Heart and soul
I was pretty sure I had lost my soul. You get hardened to things in medicine. Recently, I had to tell a woman that her mother died. It wasn’t unexpected. She almost collapsed in grief. I tried to console her, spoke gently. But I stole glances at the clock, thinking about two other patients who were sick in the CCU. I alotted myself 5 minutes to be with her, hoping that the member of the clergy would show up soon. I felt no empathy inside, no emotion at all and I was ashamed. I used to have a soul.
And then I became a grandfather. Dillon and his wife, Emma, brought Theo into the world. I began my plan. You know, take him for rides with me on my motorcycle. I’d wait, of course, until he could hold his head up on his own, and I’d have to strap him in with something stretchy — bungee cords? — or else just learn how to do it on YouTube. He’d have to wear a helmet, of course (I’m all ABOUT safety), so I could put an old T-shirt inside my wife’s helmet to fit his tiny head.
And I would teach him woodworking, my favorite hobby. Making wood toys with my grandson! He’d be short, so I’d have to get a small table saw for him.
The Department of Children and Families notwithstanding, I actually dreamt all of this stuff while Carla drove us to see our new grandchild. I woke up drooling and sweaty, acutely aware of the stupidity of my dream. After all, newborns aren’t fun, and it’d be a while before we could get on the floor together and build medieval castles, catapults and trebuchets with Legos and rubber bands. For now, it’d be cooing and burping — how boring.
Carla held Theo first while I was talking to my daughter-in-law’s parents. She was aglow and wanted to hand him to me. “No no,” I said “You keep him.” I mean, cooing is not my thing. But she insisted and I was, I admit, a little curious to see my offspring. And he opened his eyes. And I found my soul.
I was totally unprepared. He filled me with such an unselfish love and joy. It
was not at all about stuff I wanted him to do with me. Not about what I wanted him to become. I had no plans for him. Just love — the purest I have ever felt. And there was none of the worry I used to feel with my own kids.
I knew that this little boy would probably live more years of his life without me than with me, but that was fine. I knew that he’d like hanging with his friends more than his grandpa when he grew older, and that was fine. I didn’t want anything from him or to do with him, just love him. It was pretty cool.
And, of course, he’s a lot like me. He thinks about breasts almost all of the time. He likes to sleep. He likes music. And he seems to really relish a good bowel movement (it’s the only time he smiles). I was telling this to my friend and heart surgeon, Mike Dewar. I told him how incredible it was, this little boy, cute as a button, and how, even though he was illiterate, babbling, and incontinent of feces, I just wanted to kiss him. Mike, who was a bit sleep deprived at the time, chuckled and said: “I hope my wife feels the same about me when I get like that.”