Today at 3:07 a.m. (Eastern), our beautiful daughter Bronwyn Jane was born back home. I obviously was here, thousands of miles away. Today has been one of the most up-and-down days of my life. While I have rarely had any qualms sharing intimate details of my life, I do hesitate to share how I've felt today. There are some things that are too private, too special to put on the Internet -- and those portions of my conversation with my wife today will forever remain between us. However, at the same time, I believe it's important that I share a little bit of what it's like to be thousands of miles away from your daughter's hospital delivery room, of what it's like to be in a foreign country while your wife is giving birth without you. If nothing else, I hope that what I'm about to share provides a small insight into the human element of this war, which is now in its 10th year. Yes, I knew I was eligible to deploy during this timeframe -- and while math was never my strongest subject, I can at least look at a calendar and count to nine. And yes, I joined the Air Force knowing full well that I likely would deploy at some point. So I suppose you could say I brought this on myself. At the same time, being a member of an all-volunteer force still bears a heavy cost -- one that I'm not always sure is understood by our leaders, an increasing number of whom have never worn this uniform or have had to miss a birth of a child while serving this country. I'm not here for a pity party, and I certainly don't believe that I or anyone else here at Camp Cupcake deserve anything more than a paycheck. The real heroes are our family members, people like my wife -- who I adore and love more than I ever thought possible.
I wrote the below journal entry this afternoon (Kabul time):
"Emily is in labor right now. I woke up this morning at 4 and had a feeling that she was in labor, but I brushed it off and went back to sleep. When I woke up again at 5:45, I connected my laptop to the Internet to check my email -- sure enough, I had an email from Dennis saying that the doctor had decided to induce Emily last night (Eastern time) due to a forecasted snowstorm that was supposed to hit later on. They didn't start inducing her until 8 p.m. Eastern, which is 3:30 in the morning here. It's now 1254 and I haven't heard any news. Dennis is going to email me once he hears from Linda, who is with Emily at the hospital.
"I really hate being here right now. It's one of the most surreal feelings I've ever had— to think that the love of my life is in the hospital, trying to give birth to our child. It pains me horribly to realize I won't be there when Bronwyn enters the world. I won't have the opportunity to hear her first cry or to hold her slippery, wiggly body like I have with my other three children. It hurts that I'm not there to encourage Emily, to hold her hand, or to see her look of relief and happiness when it's . . .
"On a whim, in the middle of writing this entry, I decided to call the hospital. I was expecting to get the runaround and to be told that Emily was in the middle of labor. Instead, I was connected right to Emily's room. Linda answered. 'Do you want to talk to the new mom?' I was shocked -- I hadn't heard anything from Dennis. Just as she put Emily on the line, I heard Bronwyn make a little peep. We talked for a good half hour. The delivery went well, Emily said, although this particular one was more painful than Rowan or Blythe's had been. It could have something to do with Bronwyn weighing in at 8 lbs, 8 ounces. And unlike Rowan, whose 8 lbs-6 oz. frame was spread out over 24 inches, Bronwyn's weight was packed into 20 inches. So we've got a little tank. As I talked with Emily, Bronwyn didn't make a sound -- naturally, she was busy eating.
"Talking with Emily helped me feel like a little part of me was there. We talked quite a while about why I had thought of calling when I did—Emily said it was perfect timing, as the nurses had just bathed Bronwyn and handed her back when the phone rang. The timing was so perfect that nobody else had heard the news yet, so I was the first to talk to Emily and congratulate her. As you'd expect, it was emotional to talk to the woman I love more than anyone on this Earth as she held our new daughter. With all of the other kids, I have had the opportunity to not only be in the delivery room but to play an active part. I've cut the umbilical cords of all three. With Blythe and Rowan, I was able to deliver them with my own hands, to be the first human being to hold them. Those have been three of the four best moments of my life (with our wedding day rounding out the list). A part of me feels a great void in not getting that experience this time, of not getting the chance to be the first person to hold Bronwyn. Getting to speak with Emily and getting to hear Bronwyn's little peeps helped me feel like I was there, even for just a moment.
"Later today we will Skype and I will get to see Bronwyn for the first time. It's surreal to think that I have a new daughter but I don't know what she looks like yet. Emily says Bronwyn has the infamous McCammon eyes—I never doubted that for a second, as that's one trait that is apparently ultra-dominant. She apparently has lighter hair than the rest of the kids, and not as much as Rowan—although he came out fuzzier than a Chia Pet. I'll get to see her myself later today.
"Being here has been difficult and today honestly has been one of the most difficult days of my life. But I really have no complaints—I'm the proud father of a healthy baby girl, and the proud husband of the most amazing woman I know."
"I really hate being here right now. It's one of the most surreal feelings I've ever had— to think that the love of my life is in the hospital, trying to give birth to our child. It pains me horribly to realize I won't be there when Bronwyn enters the world. I won't have the opportunity to hear her first cry or to hold her slippery, wiggly body like I have with my other three children. It hurts that I'm not there to encourage Emily, to hold her hand, or to see her look of relief and happiness when it's . . .
"On a whim, in the middle of writing this entry, I decided to call the hospital. I was expecting to get the runaround and to be told that Emily was in the middle of labor. Instead, I was connected right to Emily's room. Linda answered. 'Do you want to talk to the new mom?' I was shocked -- I hadn't heard anything from Dennis. Just as she put Emily on the line, I heard Bronwyn make a little peep. We talked for a good half hour. The delivery went well, Emily said, although this particular one was more painful than Rowan or Blythe's had been. It could have something to do with Bronwyn weighing in at 8 lbs, 8 ounces. And unlike Rowan, whose 8 lbs-6 oz. frame was spread out over 24 inches, Bronwyn's weight was packed into 20 inches. So we've got a little tank. As I talked with Emily, Bronwyn didn't make a sound -- naturally, she was busy eating.
"Talking with Emily helped me feel like a little part of me was there. We talked quite a while about why I had thought of calling when I did—Emily said it was perfect timing, as the nurses had just bathed Bronwyn and handed her back when the phone rang. The timing was so perfect that nobody else had heard the news yet, so I was the first to talk to Emily and congratulate her. As you'd expect, it was emotional to talk to the woman I love more than anyone on this Earth as she held our new daughter. With all of the other kids, I have had the opportunity to not only be in the delivery room but to play an active part. I've cut the umbilical cords of all three. With Blythe and Rowan, I was able to deliver them with my own hands, to be the first human being to hold them. Those have been three of the four best moments of my life (with our wedding day rounding out the list). A part of me feels a great void in not getting that experience this time, of not getting the chance to be the first person to hold Bronwyn. Getting to speak with Emily and getting to hear Bronwyn's little peeps helped me feel like I was there, even for just a moment.
"Later today we will Skype and I will get to see Bronwyn for the first time. It's surreal to think that I have a new daughter but I don't know what she looks like yet. Emily says Bronwyn has the infamous McCammon eyes—I never doubted that for a second, as that's one trait that is apparently ultra-dominant. She apparently has lighter hair than the rest of the kids, and not as much as Rowan—although he came out fuzzier than a Chia Pet. I'll get to see her myself later today.
"Being here has been difficult and today honestly has been one of the most difficult days of my life. But I really have no complaints—I'm the proud father of a healthy baby girl, and the proud husband of the most amazing woman I know."
2 comments:
I cried like a baby reading this post, but I guess my sobs are not a exciting as that sweet babies. Thank you for sharing.
Bitter, but mostly sweet Shane. Thank you for sharing your very real and raw emotions with us. Most of all, thank you for painting a realistic picture of not only your sacrifice, but the sacrifice of hundreds of thousands others-there in a war zone, and here at home. I will be kissing your beautiful Bronwyn in less than 2 weeks and I will whisper in her ear that her dad loves her and will see her soon.
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