Billy's father was in the delivery room when Billy was born. Billy's father stood by his wife's white-gowned left shoulder, holding her hand, as the Doctor and nurses worked to deliver the baby boy everyone expected. To Billy's father, the operating room lights seemed those of another world, and the air smelled like the inside of a medicine cabinet. His wife's face was covered with sweat. She seemed to be having a difficult time. The first moment Billy's father suspected that something was wrong was when one of the nurses blanched and averted her face. Then the Doctor paled, and seemed to fumble between Billy's mother's legs. Recovering, the Doctor continued the delivery. Billy's father wanted to ask what the matter was. But at the same time, he didn't want to alarm his wife. So he kept quiet and only continued to squeeze his wife's hand. In the next thirty seconds, his wife screamed, a young nurse retched and rushed off, clutching her stomach, the baby emerged, its cord was cut, and, inexplicably, before Billy's father could get a good look at the infant, it was rushed from the room. Billy's father leaned down to his wife's ear and whispered, "You did wonderful, dear. I'll be right with you. I've got to see the Doctor now though." Billy's father walked over in his green antistatic slippers to the Doctor. The Doctor said, "Please step outside with me for a moment." In the corridor, his mask now dangling around his neck, the Doctor said, "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Your son exhibits a grave congenital deficiency." Billy's father nodded, not knowing what to say. The Doctor seemed to be having a difficult time finding words also. "He's--anencephalic," the Doctor finally managed to say. "I don't understand," said Billy's father. "Your son's skull never fully developed. It's open. In fact, it ends approximately above his eyes. Consequently, his brain never developed either. Such specimens--ah, children--usually possess only a small portion of gray matter above the spinal cord." Billy's father thought a moment. "I take it this is a critical problem." "It's normally fatal. Children with this trauma usually don't live beyond an hour or so." "This is bad news," said Billy's father. "Yes, it is," agreed the Doctor. "Do you want me to tell your wife?" "No. I will." Billy's father went to his wife's room, where she was resting. She looked angelic and fulfilled. He told her what the Doctor had said. When Billy's mother was done weeping, her husband left her to inquire what forms he had to fill out in connection with their son's death, or stillbirth. He found their Doctor surrounded by a group of his fellows, all conferring with animation and wonder. "I can't understand it--" "Not in the literature--" "Autonomic functions are being supported somehow--" "Do we dare attempt a bone graft?" "I doubt it would take." "He surely can't live his life without one." "The possible infections alone--" "Not to mention the cosmetic appearance--" Billy's father interrupted politely. "Doctor, please. What kind of paperwork is there to be done before my son can be buried?" All the doctors fell silent. Finally, Billy's Doctor spoke. "Well, you see, it hasn't happened yet." Billy's father's brain hurt. Once more he was forced to say, "I don't understand..." "It's your son. He hasn't died. He's breathing normally. His EKG is fine. No brain activity, of course. Not surprising, since he hasn't got one. Doesn't respond to visual stimuli either. But he's alive. And he gives every indication of continuing to live for an indefinite period." Billy's father considered long and hard. "This is good news, then. I guess." "I suppose so," the Doctor agreed. "I'll go tell my wife." Billy's father returned to his wife's bedside. He told her the news. Billy's mother seemed to take the new development in stride. "We'll call him Billy," she said when they had finished discussing what this meant for their lives. "Of course," said Billy's father. "It's what we planned all along." |
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