When a Child is Born: Some Personal Reflections

It’s been a big week for our family. Grandchild number four has arrived – clocking in 3 weeks early, a smidgeon over 3 kilograms, 52 cm long and happily exercising a healthy set of lungs. Her name is Audrey – my daughter Amy, her husband Aaron and their son Ashton determined to aliterate their first names. The triple A’s are now quad A’s. That this all happened just before Christmas has been more than special.

The journey was actually fraught, and we weren’t sure they would get there. There had been several losses and more than a little heartache along the way. Not much had gone to plan – but I am more than proud of the astonishing courage and quiet trust that Amy and Aaron have shown along the way.

I’m bound to get the medical details wrong, so won’t go there, but suffice to say that Amy was surrounded by an astonishing team of experts – 12 of them in the delivery theatre at one point, cumulatively representing over a century of training. I found it deeply moving that society was willing to invest so heavily in the safe delivery of this child, a reminder that children really matter, and are a vote of confidence in the goodness of life and the promise of the future.

On Tuesday, when the Caesar took place, Rosemary and I decided we wanted to prayer walk around the hospital. It’s not something we often do, but we just felt we should. Truth to tell, I am not sure what else we could have done. Far better to pray than to mooch around at home worrying. There was a lovely reassurance along the way. One of the specialists spotted us and told us he had just come out of theatre and that all was going really well. He wasn’t responsible for the delivery but had wanted to check on how it was going.

That was great, except that 5 minutes later the hospital issued a “Code Blue: Theatre” – that dreaded message calling for the hospital resuscitation team to immediately dash to the location cited, most often to attend to a respiratory or cardiac arrest. We watched as that same specialist literally raced out his office and charged back to theatre. We had no idea which operating theatre he was dashing back to. Was it the one Amy was in, was it another? I don’t think I have ever had such an adrenalin dump. We prayed furiously. I desperately wanted it to be someone in another theatre having the crisis – but how can you pray that? We felt shocked and numbed – traumatised actually. And all you can do is wait and pray.

About twenty minutes later we got the news that Amy was fine and that Audrey had been born. She was in theatre for about 3 hours, but all had gone really well. Who was the code blue for? I don’t know? Are they OK? I don’t know? Even as I write this, I pray for them. It’s all I can do. I had really wanted to find out, but confidentiality rules are rock solid – no one would comment. Hospitals are often places of high drama – the great joy of one theatre room offset by the deepest sadness in another.

I got to hold Audrey that evening. As I introduced myself to her, she fell soundly asleep. Oh well, I’ve had that happen before! There was a sudden loud sound in the next room. I felt her start. Nothing wrong with her hearing, I thought. As I looked down at her serene face, I wondered what lies ahead for her. Some say that for her generation, 100 will be the new 60. Others are more gloomy, and suggest she might be part of a mass migration to Mars or some other solar system. While we worry about AI and its likely impact, she will not know a world without it. While we ask about the likely impact of a Trump presidency, she is more likely to ask “Trump who?”

I’m aware that her generation will face more than its fair share of challenges… but right now she is sleeping, sleeping very deeply. She was born on 17 December, just 8 days out from Christmas. I pray for her the joy and peace of Christmas. I’ve always thought that the essence of Christmas is caught up in one of the names of Jesus, “Emmanuel”. It means – God is with us. And if God is with us – well though we might be anxious about AI, and the threat of nuclear war, and global warming, and poverty, and child trafficking, and the uncertainty of the labour market – and yes, all are very (very) serious – but God is with us. We are not alone. And Audrey, God is with you – so rise up to whatever the challenges of your age are.

Audrey – your name means “noble strength”. Rather lovely isn’t it? And I pray that you will be noble – not in a privileged or entitled sense, but in the sense of honourable, in the sense of someone who knows and does the right thing, in the sense that you get that some things really matter, and you stick to them. And you are strong. I can see that already. It is the strength that comes from knowing that you are deeply loved, and that nothing will ever take that away. And that is why you are sleeping so deeply right now – this time in my arms, soon in your mom or dad’s, or in the arms of Granny Rose, or Granny Jan or Papa Chidgz or perhaps alongside your brother Ashton. You are not alone. You have come from love and will always be held in love. And God is with you. Welcome to the world…

As always, nice chatting…

This weeks photographer is Rosemary.

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