Not Your Baby!

After a hectic Singapore debut, we were settled into a proper family home, complete with a competent amah who could keep the things going. I was at term with #5, & as usual, a blunderbuss waiting to pop. On my last official visit to the OB-GYN I announced that I would have this baby “tomorrow,” which he ignored and said, “I’ll see you next week same time. I’m going to my weekend house in Changi.” I spent the next day in accelerating labor. #5 was born at about 5 o’clock, as I predicted. This particular story has its charm. 

Quite honestly, I was looking forward to a 5-day rest in the hospital. I was told that I was lucky to get a reservation in the old colonial hospital, Glen Eagles. I did not know why I was so lucky, but I was about to find out. Upon arrival, like expected guests, Jean-Jacques and I were ushered to the delivery room and installed without ado. The ever-polite staff moved at a slow shuffle, not the least bit hurried. They took our word for it that I was in the last stages of labor. I was never examined. The mid-wife waited outside the room, presumably for the doctor to arrive. J.J., who had brought some reading material, held my hand during contractions. About the time the baby was coming, he went to fetch the mid-wife who came straight away. As the fifth boy was being born, J.J. suggested to the mid-wife that maybe a little oxygen for his wife would be nice. She immediately complied. The baby seemed okay, cried energetically, & then was whisked off to be examined, cleaned, & clothed elsewhere. Still no doctor, so the mid-wife took the initiative of finishing the birthing. Throughout, the mid-wife was most cordial and gentle. When the doctor arrived, all he had to do was a few stitches for my ritual episiotomy. He didn't say much. I could tell he was miffed that I had disturbed his weekend, but worse, that he had lost face on the timing. (I’ve always had to ask, “What OB wouldn’t take a 5-time multipara seriously?!) You might say, J.J. & I felt almost in charge of a small staff of old-style British colonial servants. 

My private room had ivory white walls, floors of stained plank teakwood, with like molding & doors. There were a couple of wicker easy chairs for visitors and a mature parlor palm graced one corner. The windows, screened to keep insects out, were always open onto a green, treed, flowered inner garden.  The ever-present overhead fan squeaked at a steady metronomic 40 beats per minute. Meals were delicious, generous, & served on a standing tray, as was 4 o’clock tea with crumpets. Baby #5 was brought to me at intervals, but mercifully, mostly stayed in the neo-natal (crying) room.  It was heaven. Even a bit of bad news couldn’t cloud my deluxe vacation. Next morning an orthopedic surgeon was called in to examine baby’s left foot. Quietly, he joined J.J. & me in my room. Softly he said, “I think your son has a mild club foot. Would you mind if we placed a corrective cast on it for now?” We were a bit shocked, but quickly agreed, knowing we would be seeing more of this specialist.   

Later that day, J.J. left the kids in the hospital garden (I could see them from my windows!) while he introduced the amah to the newborn, her newest charge. She held him solidly and examined him with a scrutinizing stare: thatch of coal-black hair; skin color on the dark-peachy olive side. What was this white cast on his left leg? Without hesitation she announced to J.J., “They make mistake. Not your baby!” J.J., cool & calm, answered, “Holly. Oh yes, he’s ours. You’re going to love him.” And love him, she did.  


Note: The doctors & hospital staff were all Chinese.