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A father's love conquers all
I once received an e-mail which left me with a heavy heart for days. The contents alone were disturbing, but that the missive came from a friend left me even more troubled. His mail was in response to a column I had written on brave couples who fought the temptation to abort an "accident" baby and, in one case, a Down's syndrome child.
This friend, whom I had not been in touch with for some years, said in his e-mail that my column summed up how that particular Sunday had been a roller coaster of emotions for him. That Sunday had been his 37th birthday, and it was also the day his daughter, Nadine, marked her first minute of life at Raffles Hospital.
‘I didn't have my Kodak moment with her birth as some fathers do, as their babies are placed in their arms and they get to cut the umbilical cord,’ he said.
‘Instead, the first time I saw my baby was as she burst through a pair of operating theatre doors, whisked past me in a cart by nurses who were rushing to get her to a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, a tiny pink wisp of a girl under white swaddling cloths,’ he said of Nadine, who was about a month premature.
‘And, as of this writing, we are awaiting the results of a chromosomal test that will tell us if she has Down's syndrome.’
Tests taken around the third month of pregnancy had shown there was a high chance the baby would be born with this. Though he is more than 10 years younger than me, we shared common interests and had spent a bit of time together when we were colleagues.
He was a fun guy with a maniacal laugh. When things weren't going his way, he would brood and sulk for a while, only to dismiss his whole situation with his trademark laugh which could be translated to "Ahhh, what the heck!".
I read and re-read his e-mail and nowhere was there a hint of that laughter. We exchanged a few e-mail messages. He turned down my offer of a hospital visit. We could meet, but later, he said.
In one of his follow-up e-mail messages a few days later, he confirmed that his daughter was indeed suffering from Down's syndrome. The doctors had also found signs of a hole in Nadine's heart and a valve that should be closing but doesn't appear to. His e-mail messages were sad, but I was moved by what I saw in each of them — the beautiful love of a father for whom this child was perfect.
It was there when he said: ‘Nadine has been Nadine for far longer than her mere 48 hours on this planet. In that time, she has brought us a lot of joy.’
It was there before the test results were out — Down's syndrome or not: ‘It is up to us as her parents to give Nadine the best life possible and to help her to grow up to be happy and always feel warm and loved and safe and welcome.’
After the confirmation of the child's illness, I could tell his spirits took a body blow: ‘We'll take it one day, one thing at a time, I guess, and we've got a lot to learn about raising her.’ But even there, his determined love came through. ‘I believe that, come what may, Nadine's going to be okay,’ he said.
I have seen this kind of gritty, determined love. I know a mother of a teenage autistic child who is always happy and cheerful despite her son's condition. On bad days, he would rant and rave, throw tantrums, disappear for hours and can be unmanageable. But every time I talk to her, she is like any normal mother, proudly telling me about something her son had done or the mischief he had been up to. She would tear when talking about how sweet a boy he is, and how kind he is though he sometimes has problems relating to other teens. What love this woman has for her son.
Reading my friend's e-mail, I concluded that he would give his daughter a similar kind of love. Last Tuesday, when he responded to my request to use our e-mail exchange for this column, he and his family were just about to check out of the hospital. He knows there are tough times ahead and plenty of visits to the doctor, but I was confident that with a love like his, she would be fine.
This friend, whom I had not been in touch with for some years, said in his e-mail that my column summed up how that particular Sunday had been a roller coaster of emotions for him. That Sunday had been his 37th birthday, and it was also the day his daughter, Nadine, marked her first minute of life at Raffles Hospital.
‘I didn't have my Kodak moment with her birth as some fathers do, as their babies are placed in their arms and they get to cut the umbilical cord,’ he said.
‘Instead, the first time I saw my baby was as she burst through a pair of operating theatre doors, whisked past me in a cart by nurses who were rushing to get her to a Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, a tiny pink wisp of a girl under white swaddling cloths,’ he said of Nadine, who was about a month premature.
‘And, as of this writing, we are awaiting the results of a chromosomal test that will tell us if she has Down's syndrome.’
Tests taken around the third month of pregnancy had shown there was a high chance the baby would be born with this. Though he is more than 10 years younger than me, we shared common interests and had spent a bit of time together when we were colleagues.
He was a fun guy with a maniacal laugh. When things weren't going his way, he would brood and sulk for a while, only to dismiss his whole situation with his trademark laugh which could be translated to "Ahhh, what the heck!".
I read and re-read his e-mail and nowhere was there a hint of that laughter. We exchanged a few e-mail messages. He turned down my offer of a hospital visit. We could meet, but later, he said.
In one of his follow-up e-mail messages a few days later, he confirmed that his daughter was indeed suffering from Down's syndrome. The doctors had also found signs of a hole in Nadine's heart and a valve that should be closing but doesn't appear to. His e-mail messages were sad, but I was moved by what I saw in each of them — the beautiful love of a father for whom this child was perfect.
It was there when he said: ‘Nadine has been Nadine for far longer than her mere 48 hours on this planet. In that time, she has brought us a lot of joy.’
It was there before the test results were out — Down's syndrome or not: ‘It is up to us as her parents to give Nadine the best life possible and to help her to grow up to be happy and always feel warm and loved and safe and welcome.’
After the confirmation of the child's illness, I could tell his spirits took a body blow: ‘We'll take it one day, one thing at a time, I guess, and we've got a lot to learn about raising her.’ But even there, his determined love came through. ‘I believe that, come what may, Nadine's going to be okay,’ he said.
I have seen this kind of gritty, determined love. I know a mother of a teenage autistic child who is always happy and cheerful despite her son's condition. On bad days, he would rant and rave, throw tantrums, disappear for hours and can be unmanageable. But every time I talk to her, she is like any normal mother, proudly telling me about something her son had done or the mischief he had been up to. She would tear when talking about how sweet a boy he is, and how kind he is though he sometimes has problems relating to other teens. What love this woman has for her son.
Reading my friend's e-mail, I concluded that he would give his daughter a similar kind of love. Last Tuesday, when he responded to my request to use our e-mail exchange for this column, he and his family were just about to check out of the hospital. He knows there are tough times ahead and plenty of visits to the doctor, but I was confident that with a love like his, she would be fine.
About The Author: Mathew Pereira is currently the Sports Editor of The Straits Times. Between 2004 and 2008, he wrote several columns which talked about his personal experience of fatherhood. This piece was one of many in his collection of fatherhood stories. Mathew is a member of the Fathers Action Network (FAN).
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