Waiting

I watched the elevator door close, separating me from Sara. It was expected, but not well accepted. I would have to wait for about an hour before being able to go up to the NICU. The nurses said they needed the time to get Sara stable. I was left to reflect on the first few minutes I had had with Sara. After she was born, they rushed her to the warming bed. She was so small. I stood on the edge of a circle of nurses watching as they cleaned her, took her temperature, checked her heart rate, and seemed to check her head to toe. Once the cursory checks were done, the circle of nurses were moving, with the warmer in the center. Out the door and down the hall towards that isolating elevator. I was worried, and angry. Why was it, that I could not watch what they were doing to my daughter. I wanted to be right there. I left insignificant in the those moments and helpless. I wanted to care for Sara, and was told no. I was an observer, not a factor in whether she survived or not. This moment was one of the most helpless I have ever felt. I am sure that what was happening was routine. That is was done in the best interest of Sara. The logic of the process is not lost on me. But in those moments of new fatherhood, I was not logical.