The day I learned again what it means to be 'given life'

July 22, 2015, at 2:42 PM

Huh? His cry is quiet.

My third cesarean section.

Since my first was a C-section due to a breech presentation, this birth was my third.

This time, the anesthesia didn't take well, so they lowered my head along with the operating table, then leveled it again.

I felt a terrifying tingling sensation in the back of my head, and I kept complaining to the nurse who was holding my hand, asking her to return my body to a horizontal position.

That was how, at the moment of birth following the incision, I felt my son's first cry was small.

It wasn't that he wasn't crying.

But it was small.

That slight sense of unease faded along with the general anesthesia that followed.

In the middle of that night, while I was still groggy, I received an explanation from the doctor.

"Your son's lungs haven't fully expanded and his function is insufficient, so he will be going to a larger hospital. I would like you to contact your family to inform them of this."

I apologize if the nuance is just how I remember it now, but my emotion when I received the doctor's explanation was, 'Ah, I see.'

Thinking calmly that it was already time for my husband to be asleep, I made the call and
"Listen calmly, okay?"
I remember starting with that preface.

My husband immediately began preparing to go to the large hospital where our son was being transferred.

I remember the siren approaching from far away,

and then fading away again.

Without my child by my side

The next morning in the hospital room. Because of my experience giving birth to my older children, I knew clearly what I should have been doing and what I was not doing now.

I was grateful to be in a private room.

However, it feels strange when I think back on it now.

I didn't really feel much anxiety.

Even though I had only seen his face once while he was still in surgery.

Perhaps I believed in that cry, however faint it may have been.

After hearing the situation from my husband, who had returned from the hospital where our son had been transferred, I began to do what I needed to do, quietly and steadily.

Expressing milk from my engorged breasts.

Having the breast milk I collected with the pump frozen in the freezer.

It is said that colostrum is important, but beyond that, my breasts were hard and painful because the baby wasn't nursing, and I had to do something to manage the discomfort.

Perhaps because I had fed my two older children with a mix of breast milk and formula, I became able to express milk quite smoothly, even without a newborn nursing.

Ah, so that is why you were born to me.

Naturally, I spent my days thinking thoughts like that.

Supporting each other

We were living with my husband's parents.

It was just around the time summer vacation was starting.
I left the care of my two older children entirely to my parents-in-law, and my husband, deciding that work was not the priority, drove one hour each way every day to the large hospital where our son was.

At the time, my husband was self-employed and could manage his work schedule freely, which allowed him to visit every day.

"The tube came off."

"He was out of the incubator."

As the days passed since the birth, I received reports like these from my husband.

I was greatly encouraged by his daily reports.

My husband didn't visit every day just to give me reports.
He also went to deliver the breast milk I had pumped whenever my breasts felt engorged.

He would pack my frozen breast milk into a cooler box stuffed with as many ice packs as it could hold and hurry to the hospital.

Ten years ago, the temperatures weren't as consistently scorching as they are now, but even so, a one-hour drive each way on a summer day was a significant hurdle.

"I was scolded, told that if I didn't pack it tighter, it would melt and they wouldn't be able to give it to the baby."

The person on the other end was a professional working on the front lines of life. They must have been giving him instructions so seriously that it made a grown man feel dejected.

However, I also felt that they were asking for the impossible. The cooler box we owned, intended for keeping drinks cold at work or on holidays, had no medical expertise behind it.

Even so, there were more times when he was able to transport it without it thawing.

Desperate days

They were desperate days for my husband as well.

For the first week or so, his routine was to head from home to the maternity clinic where I was staying to pick up the frozen breast milk, drive an hour to see our son, return to the clinic, and then go home to take care of our two older children.

After I was discharged, his days were spent traveling back and forth between home and the hospital where our son was.

As for me, things were difficult after being discharged following my cesarean section.

During the postpartum period, I was making two-hour round trips by car.
Even though I could lie down in the car, my physical strength and mental energy were gradually being worn away.

It was a relief that my son, whom I met at the hospital, looked healthy and seemed to be doing well.

August 6th, the day of discharge.

I remember my daughters running over as soon as they heard the sound of the car arriving.

What it means to be gifted with life

I discovered I was pregnant with my third child because I had persistent irregular bleeding.

Upon confirming the pregnancy, I was ordered to stay on absolute bed rest at home.
Naturally, I had to contact my part-time job to tell them I couldn't work until I reached a stable period.

Thinking I would 'just stop by,' I went to my workplace on the way back from the maternity clinic to report the news, and...

'You shouldn't be here. I'll tell the manager for you, so go home and rest.'

A senior colleague at my part-time job treated me very generously. She was more than just a big sister figure; she was truly gallant.

Remembering the circumstances of that early pregnancy, the trips back and forth to the hospital where my son was became a precious time for me to reaffirm the fragility and resilience of life.

Looking up transient tachypnea of the newborn again this time, it said it takes 2 to 3 days to recover.
However, I feel like the number of days I remember my son being connected to tubes or in an incubator was a bit longer.

Since my Maternal and Child Health Handbook says 'transient *severe* tachypnea of the newborn,' he was likely there for about 4 or 5 days.

Or perhaps the hospital was monitoring him while keeping other possibilities in mind.
In the 'Prognosis of Transient Tachypnea of the Newborn' section of the MSD Manual I referenced, I saw the explanation I received when I first went to the hospital to see my son after being discharged... the talk about future possibilities.

In the end, he has been growing up healthy ever since.

His personality is on the quieter side and he doesn't run wild much, but compared to his older sisters, his way of frolicking and playing as a 'boy' is fresh and interesting.

I want to pay my respects to everyone on the front lines of life, regardless of age or gender.
Because thanks to them, I have my healthy son.

An important day for reaffirmation

Time has passed, and it is now July 22, 2025.
In our family, birthdays are request days where the guest of honor gets to eat what they want and do what they want.

My youngest son, who turned 10, requested to eat out on the 21st, the day before, and to have takoyaki at home on the 22nd.

“Why does he think he can get his way for both days?”

Everyone in the family thought this, but

“Well, I guess it’s fine.”

That was the conclusion we all reached, so we ended up with a birthday eve and a birthday day that followed the youngest’s requests.

My child, whose sleeping face still looks like an angel

He has started to show a dignified expression from time to time

“Let’s sleep together,” “Let’s take a bath together.”

I suppose I won’t be hearing those words much longer

He stopped letting me kiss his cheeks about a year ago

Even when I am overflowing with affection, I try not to hug him suddenly

Instead, I ask, “Can I give you a squeeze?”

When you think, “Well, I’ll put up with it,” please grant your mother’s wish

I am so happy that you were born

Happy birthday

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