this story originally appeared in the philippine daily inquirer on November 22, 2007.
March 2004–When I heard that my cousin was having a baby, my imagination took off to wonderland. You see, among us cousins, she was the first to have a baby. It seemed like we were so young just yesterday and before I knew it, I was going to become an aunt. At the age of 13, the idea was very strange and uncomfortable to me.
I looked at my cousin. She was smiling. She must be happy. But I was more excited. For the first time in my life, I was going to watch a live birth.
How could this happen? Both my parents are doctors, and they are friends with my cousin’s doctor. This meant they would get to see the whole operation. Which meant, I could tag along and see the baby come out of my cousin!
Dressed like a doctor, with medical robe, hair cap and mask, I stepped into the operating room. It smelled funny inside. I sat on the floor and sent my cousin you-can-do-it mental messages.
My cousin was lying on a small bed. They gave her a couple of shots of anesthesia as I looked on, cringing at how big the syringes were. But we all knew the pain would be worth it later on.
There were six doctors: my aunt, my dad and mom, the obstetrician, the anesthesiologist and the pediatrician. Curiously, the doctors were actually talking and laughing while my cousin was nervously waiting. They talked about the day they were giving birth to their own babies. They compared cell phones and shared funny ring tones. The room was so noisy that I began to doubt if I was in the right room. It was the exact opposite of the hospital scenes in the movies where everyone is tense and observing silently. Those movies are miles away from the reality I witnessed.
It took them hours to finish. They had a hard time. At one point, they were considering doing a caesarean section. I heard them say it would be easier that way.
But I thought it was a crazy thing to say. The more appropriate adjective for slicing a stomach open is painful, not easy. Happily, after giving a final push on my cousin’s stomach, the obstetrician shrieked that the baby was out.
The whole time I could feel the chills my cousin was experiencing. Her hands were cold and sweaty. She was shaking terribly. I asked myself if the baby was really worth all that pain.
My cell phone said 10:13 p.m. when the doctor finally raised the baby. I stared at her. Long and pale-skinned. She cried a little, just a soft yell lasting four seconds. They call it a cry, but who am I to disagree?
The pediatrician cleaned the baby. Everyone was smiling and saying, “The baby is beautiful!”
I left the operating room and went to sleep. It was already late when I woke up. The doctors were having dinner. And they were still having fun, laughing through their meal.
Unlike them, I was no longer feeling hyper. I was tired and cranky. But that was nothing compared to the physical pain my cousin endured. Still I’m sure nobody can beat the happiness she was feeling. Not even the doctors, with their continuous laughter.
Babies may be the cause of overpopulation, happy and satisfied parents, tired assistants and fulfilled observers like me. But nobody really knows the reason a baby is born. It’s a mystery that unfolds as life goes on. But one thing is sure: Every baby in this world is born to add color to life. We too were babies once and now we are an unfolded mystery.
