Personal Perspective: Father's Day Brings Memories of My Daughter, a Permanent Marker, and a Frustrated Caregiver
A nurse hurried into the room where I was with my newborn daughter, Dylan. She was in her fifties and had a face that suggested she wouldn't allow herself to be anesthetized during a dental procedure. She was stocky, about my height, and clutched Dylan in her arms.
"Who drew on this baby?" she snapped, eyeing me suspiciously.
I didn't dare glance at the marker that lay beside me, but I pointed toward a distant corner of the room. I shrugged guiltily as I tried to discreetly hide the marker.
The nurse glared at me, not even looking at my wife, Reggie, or Dylan, who could not have been the suspect. For a moment, we all stood in silence as she observed me intently. The nurse then revealed my daughter's left foot, where I had written the letter "D."
Moments earlier, I had watched my baby girl arrive into the world. I cut her umbilical cord. Apart from handing the baby to the doctor, I had been the first person to hold her, look into her eyes, and greet her. The experience had been overwhelming and changed my world forever. I cried – not just because I briefly mistook her for my father-in-law!
When the nurse announced that she was taking Dylan away to clean her up, I panicked. I spotted the marker and hastily scribbled a "D" on her foot. In my panic, I promised myself I wouldn't let anyone switch the babies.
"I did this to make sure we get the same baby back," I explained.
"We have wristbands for that," the nurse retorted sternly. I suddenly remembered the ID bracelet they had put on Dylan's wrist during her initial exam.
"Yes, but those can be swapped," I said, but convincingly. "But try scrubbing the 'D' off her foot."
The nurse handed Dylan to Reggie, keeping her eyes solely on me. Then she stormed over to the exam table and took the marker away.
"No more drawing on the baby," she said, distinctly, placing the marker down and retreating through the door.
Reggie, who had just endured several hours of labor, looked at me, bewildered. "Really?" she said, glancing at Dylan's ID bracelet.
I leaned over and kissed Reggie, touching Dylan's head. "It's alright. She's safe," I murmured. Then, I slipped the blanket back to expose Dylan's foot and took another look at my work.
"What are you doing now?" the doctor asked, worried that I might grab the marker again.
"Nothing. Sorry," I said. I whispered to Reggie, "Don't worry. It's definitely my handwriting."
Relieved, Reggie glanced at Dylan, now nursing quietly. "It's okay," she breathed. "Everything's all right. Breathe." I wasn't sure if she was speaking to herself, me, or Dylan.
The love I felt for my little one took my breath away and instantly overwhelmed me, making it impossible to think rationally. "Breathe," I repeated, as I pulled the blanket back to cover Dylan's foot.
That was my first lesson in parenting: avoid rash decisions and consider the consequences before acting. The turbulent feelings of euphoria, fear, joy, boredom, and chaos that are part of parenting required me to stay calm and reasonable.
Original text
```The nurse burst into our birthing room with an urgency usually reserved for a SWAT incursion. She looked to be in her fifties and had the countenance of someone likely to refuse novocaine during a root canal. She was sturdy and close to my height. In the crux of her arms was my newborn daughter, Dylan.
– She asked “Who drew on this baby?”
The nurse set her gaze upon me with no glance toward my wife or the doctor or my daughter, Reggie. I held her gaze without daring to look at the permanent marker which lay like a smoking gun on the exam table to my right. I shrugged and pointed vaguely to the background of our room while simultaneously aiming to surreptitiously flick the marker out of sight.
We stood in a tense moment – the whole room filled with confusion; the nurse being murderous; me innocent-looking; and Reggie and the doctor bewildered. She then unwrapped the blanket hiding Dylan's legs. She brandished the bottom of my daughter's left foot. The mark Giving Details clearly said “D.”
Reggie had just given birth. I had been present with her while she pushed, and I had cut the umbilical cord. I initially held Dylan with my arms cradling her, and I gazed into her blue eyes, weeping and proclaiming her first greeting. Then she handed my baby to somebody else, then I moved over next to a table with an instrument-like thing. The doctor held up Dylan’s legs, checked her fingers, toes, everything checked out. I kept tearing up, witnessing far more than I comprehended – seeing a half-naked, barely-alive human being, witnessing this new vacuum formed into life. Afterwards, when the baby was taken away to be cleaned, I panicked. I spotted the marker beside me. I used the Sharpie, scribbled “D” on the baby’s leg. I needed to ensure our baby was safe and there was no swapping.
“I […] drew on the baby so that we know this is our child when we get her back,”
“That is why we have wristbands,”
The absurd and angry nurse barked. As she brandished a Sharpie she took of the baby Dylan, signifying she had won the duel.
The doctors and I were serious. I planned to mark Dylan's and make it last. The nurse marched to an exam table, and took the marker.
“No more drawing on the baby”
The nurse sternly warned us, her eyes still snapping at the scene of the crime. Luckily for me, Dylan was safer now. I merely wanted to ensure our baby was safe. I whispered, “I know it's become my handwriting.”
Reggie sighed, “How patient and kind you are for this ordeal,” while running her fingers through the back of my neck, holding her baby who was nursing.
I had just encountered a powerful feeling unparalleled: intense love, vulnerability, humility, and the necessity to protect a life created by me, with no voice. With this, I pulled the blanket further down on Dylan’s feet.
She became this ardent, interpretative, delightful scene. The emotions you experience in this article, of making someone truly new and fulfilling a promise made with no exceptions.
Yet extreme and unpredictable feelings can be euphoric or frightening, most of the time falling in between. It becomes necessary to prioritize patience to avoid potential difficulties.
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Despite the nurse's harsh criticism, I stood firm in my decision to mark Dylan's foot. I believed it was a necessary step to ensure our baby's safety.
In the aftermath, I reflected on the controversy surrounding my actions and realized that everyone has their own opinions on what constitutes appropriate behavior in such situations.
