Harrison Greene, named after a family ancestor, was born on what would have been his great-grandfather’s 99th birthday. A breech baby, born at 37.5 weeks via c-section, little man for sure didn’t come into the world on the easiest or best of terms and ensured that he broke the mold of any and every preconceived notion placed on him before his birth.
March 3, 2021
I still remember struggling to put on the little booties they gave me after they rolled my wife out to be prepped for her c-section. I was a bit more nervous than I’d like to admit. Not because we were about to have a new baby. No, that I was excited about and couldn’t wait. The nervousness came from my wife wanting to watch her c-section, and the nurses being able to find a clear curtain to allow her the chance. I was nervous about the fact that my wife wanted me to take photos of her c-section procedure. I had no idea what to expect or how much blood there would be. Had no idea how much we could see or not see, and I wasn’t excited to find out.
Thankfully, I was alone, and no one saw my struggle to decipher those booties or the giant lump in my throat I had to swallow.
The day itself had started as you would expect. We woke up; we packed up our stuff, and we headed out. Having a scheduled c-section meant it took the guesswork of the when out of the equation. When we left our house, we knew that the next time we came home, we’d have our little boy.
We just didn’t realize that those moments would be the last moments of our perceived normality for a long while.
When they brought me into the room where my wife, the doctor, and the nurses were, they positioned me in my spot. I sat down on my little stool, next to my wife’s head, trying to anticipate when I needed to stand up to take the photos I was dreading to take, but that my wife wanted.
Then the world stopped.
Almost immediately, I knew something wasn’t right. Our son was breached, so he came out feet first. This was the first c-section I had experienced, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the cringe of watching the doctor struggle to get our son’s head to come out wasn’t something I was prepared for.
What I didn’t realize at the time was that our little man’s left arm was up and behind his head, with his cord wrapped around it. In his attempt the shift things around to bring him out, the doctor inadvertently broke our son’s arm.
The moment the doctor had cleared my son of my wife’s abdomen, he handed him to one of the multiple nurses, who all suddenly seemed to be moving with an unorganized fevered pace. I had just enough time to register the sight of his hands before they took him to the table to wipe him down and do all the things that happen with a newborn. I remember having that split-second moment to register a thought of curiosity before my heart sank to my stomach. Knowing right then that things were not going according to plan.
I knew something was wrong. I just don’t know what. The doctors and nurses, while trying to hide the fact that they were freaking out a little facing an unexpected situation, were doing a poor job hiding it.
I remember walking over to the table they had him lying. He had yet to make a sound. Was more blue-tinted than you’d like to see. They had an oxygen mask on his face. He wasn’t kicking his legs or swinging his arms. I took a moment to register that his legs were crossed up and drawn towards his body. His hands were drawn and not moving. My brain was trying to process all I was seeing, and I remember having thought his hands looked more like flippers than hands. His right arm was bent and tucked in tight. His left arm lay limp to his side, unnaturally away from the rest of his body as if it was dislocated at the shoulder. It looked as if it was simply just held on by his skin.
I somehow managed to take photos while taking all this in, knowing things weren’t right.
My wife, who had never had a chance to truly get a good view of things, was unaware yet of anything. I tried my best to not show any worry, while she was lying there asking if our son was ok, in the middle of being sewn back up. Thankfully, she was unaware, at least that I was fighting the urge to have a complete panic attack and pass out.
This was all before we even knew anything. Well, before our life moving forward found itself completely upended and rewritten.
My heart ran cold. I have never felt that level of dread, fear, and panic, all the while knowing I had to keep it together. After what felt like a lifetime, but was truly only a handful of seconds at most, he started taking breaths on his own. Eventually, they were able to swaddle him up and bring him over so his mother could finally lay eyes on him. I’m not sure how I managed it, but I’m thankful that I had the wherewithal to still capture this moment with my phone. The first of countless mother and son photos.
They rush our son away after the quick moment to grab a photo and give a kiss, replacing him with a shell-shocked doctor who stumbles over his own words, trying to explain to us what was going on.
I already knew something was wrong, even though I didn’t know what. This was the moment my wife truly realized things were not going how we expected them to. Unfortunately for the doctor who was brought in, everything he was doing to try to “console” us was only amplifying the situation in the worst of ways. After what felt like days, I’m finally offered the opportunity to go see my son while they sew my wife back up. I leave her, shell-shocked, by her insistence that I go and check on our son.
While walking down the hall, the same doctor is walking with me, trying to lay out potential scenarios. I’m only listening to about every third word, as fear is building up inside, not knowing what I’m walking into. Not knowing what I’m going to see. Scared for my son, for my wife, just bone, soul-chilling fear.
This is now the point of the story where everything is a bit fuzzier. Panic and a bit of shock were firmly in place at this point. I primarily remember this doctor saying this word I had never heard before and damn near sounded made up; arthrogryposis.
I also remember his bedside manner was, we’ll say, lacking. It probably is due to him being thrust into a chaotic, unexpected situation, but he probably said “I’m sorry” 20-30 times within the short time we spent together. While I’m sure intentions were good, having a medical professional tell you they’re very sorry, over and over, doesn’t exactly help calm the nerves or improve confidence.
We eventually come into the area that they have our son in. This is typically the point when the Dad gets to help give the first little bath and get those photos from the nursery. You’ve already gotten the first photos with mom, now it’s time for the first father and son selfie!
That’s not how our story went. Instead, I take in a sight that does not help the fears and nerves. Multiple nurses and doctors were around, talking and doing tests. Monitors and tubes were everywhere. They already had lines coming from his belly button/umbilical cord, which they did not allow me to cut.
This is the first time I truly get to take in the full sight of my son. His feet are curled up to nearly under his diaper, with his right foot curved and looking like it was cupping his left. His little body looked to be slightly curved, with his head turned to where his chin looked to be resting on his right shoulder. His right hand was clenched and tucked under his chin while his left was just lying loose to his side.
The visual was a lot. Rather than being with my son, taking photos, and enjoying those first moments in the nursery, I’m barely conscious of the world around me. I’m looking at my son, wondering what could be wrong. Running countless scenarios and worst-case outcomes in my mind. Between the shock, the fear, and the adrenalin wearing off, it felt like I could pass out at any moment. Thankfully, in all the chaos, one nurse must have picked up on this and offered me a chair, which I quickly took. I’m sitting there, just staring at the bed holding my newborn son. All I could do was sit and stare. Stare and wonder.
I was sitting there feeling fear, guilt, anger, dread, and more emotions I can’t even put into words.
Again, I somehow, through the haze, had the wherewithal to take photos. I wish I could say it was all sweet and positive reasons, but we still didn’t know what was going on with our baby, and I didn’t know if the next photo would be the last.
This was the point when the “I’m sorry” doctor came and sat next to me to talk again. He’s telling me about my son’s fractured arm, how his joints are all clinched and seized, and the countless unknowns, including not knowing what quality of life our son will have. Hearing those words caused my already dropped stomach to drop even further. All I wanted to do was break down right then and there, but I managed to keep it together, just by a thread.
I’m finally brought back to my wife, who knows nothing beyond something is wrong. I feel disconnected from reality, in my own Twilight Zone, but bring myself back to consciousness enough to try to console my wife. I do my best to stumble through what I remember the doctor saying, but doing a truly poor job of relaying any useful information. I try to reassure her. To lie to her the best I can while I do my best to hide the sick and unending dread and worry I feel in my gut.
The next few hours go by in a haze. We’re informed that our son will be getting transferred to another hospital because of his fractured arm. Numerous doctors and nurses came to talk to us about different circumstances and what was happening. They kept us updated as they tried to get my wife transferred to the hospital with our son.
Thankfully, during this time, when we were waiting for transfers to be approved, my wife was wheeled down to where our son was waiting for his transport. She was able to see him for the first time. Hiding back the tears, the fear, and the hurt that I know she’s feeling. The guilt. The deluge of emotions that I was still wading through was truly flooding in for her for the first time.
A brand new mom getting to see her son, unable to hold him. All I could do was feel my stomach drop for the umpteenth time. I hated it for her. Hated it for him. I was helpless to make anything better for either of them, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty for it all. This innocent little baby, sucking on his pacifier, undeserving of the pains and struggles he’s already experienced, and will experience throughout his life. And his mom, a first-time mom, who had almost given up on the thought of ever being a mother herself before us getting pregnant. Fear and unknowns replaced what should have been a joyous and love-filled time as mother and son finally properly met.
More time passes, and we get to see our son one more time before he’s taken away in an ambulance, soon followed by my wife in a separate one. I’m left alone again, in the same room I had just struggled with booties a few hours earlier, not getting to drive home, but driving from one hospital to another. Feeling so many emotions while feeling nothing at all.
Once I finally make it to my car, the walls crumble a bit, and I break down for a moment before I finally call my own Mom, who up to this point only knew something was wrong, but didn’t know what. I try my best to update her as I’m driving, when in reality I only want to sit there and tell her I’m sorry, repeatedly. I carry the full weight of the guilt of everything as I drive from one end of town to the other.
At this point, I’m just numb. I’m numb purely for survival and the need to function and be there for my wife and son.
The following days are filled with countless doctors and specialists talking to us while we remain in a haze. Being torn between loving your child while also mourning your child and the life you had dreamed up in your head is an essence-exhausting experience I’d wish on no one.
Those first few days we hang on, finding new thought processes, new paths, new terms and phrases as the clock continues to tick forward. We hang on, by the tips of our fingers, to each additional fact we learn.
- Our son has a condition called Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita (AMC) in all his extremities.
- While our son had a fractured arm and lacked muscle development in his left shoulder, his left arm likely saved his life. It was tucked up behind his head while in the womb, with his umbilical cord wrapped around it. The arm’s position proved to save his life, keeping the cord from being able to wrap around his neck, but the position is what caused his arm to be fractured during birth delivery.
- He also has:
- Scoliosis
- internally rotated shoulders
- a narrow ribcage
- a dislocated hip (hip dysplasia)
- infant torticollis
- club feet.
All of this was unexpected. All indications of a healthy baby boy were there. Great heartbeat, breathing, and all limbs, and his head measured normally. The typical signs of arthrogryposis (AMC); lack of movement in the womb, and low amniotic fluid, were not there. Nothing abnormal came up on blood genetic testing during pregnancy or in the ultrasounds.
No one had any idea or clue of any of this until he was born. Hence the chaos in the delivery room.
We spent a week in the NICU. A week in the NICU, during COVID, where no family could visit. Where it was just the three of us. A week where it felt like we were learning something new every waking hour.
A week where there was unquestionably one constant:
We love one another, and we love our son unconditionally.
Life may have taken a few unexpected turns when our son was born, but it never stopped. Life and time continue to move forward, whether you’re ready for it or not. A fact we quickly learned we couldn’t afford to ignore long at all.
We were now just not Harrion’s parents, but AMC Parents.
This post is a rerwritten combination of a couple of posts I originally wrote over on 'The Greene Affect' back in 2021.
