The Umbilical Cord and the Bully

The birth of a child is an amazing process. We can be thankful that there are medical professionals and specialists in this field.

Our second child, a daughter, was born on 9/13/2004. The details of which will be sparse here in an effort to keep on point. I’m not a guy who shows his strongest side at the sight of blood, giving of blood, medical procedures, medical discussions, or needles. How I managed to witness both birthings without passing out I’m not sure. I guess I figured that if Wife Klem’s strong enough to do the hard part I’d better try to muscle through in my spectating capacity.


9/13/2004

Child two arrived, baby was crying, got toweled off, still crying and the doctor turns to me and says, “Dad, do you want to cut the cord?”

I’m hanging onto consciousness on the strength of what remains of my adrenaline boost. [No, I didn’t get a shot, but viewing the birthing process furnished me with a self-induced adrenal kick.] There’s a flurry of medical people in the room, blood, a Pretty Mommy that could do with some comforting and a crying baby that’s awaiting review of all critical parts. The doctor, meanwhile, is looking to me, the most inconsequential person in the room.

“No thanks. Go ahead,” I respond happy that the actual birthing is done and hoping to get to my wife.

“You don’t want to,” asks the doctor surprised still giving me his full attention.

“I’m good, thanks,” Klem.

“Dad, come on. Are you sure,” not relenting.

Wife Klem, fresh off the birthing, is even trying to get the doctor off me, “He doesn’t want to. Just cut it.”

Looking to conclude this silliness so that the two patients can get the needed medical attention at this critical time, “OK” taking the giant scissors and cutting the thick piece of flesh like so much twine.

Sitting back down and watching the medical folk complete their tasks. ‘I’d just gotten bullied by an MD,’ I contemplated. Unkind.
-klem