Melissa, quite a lot has happened since I wrote you last week. On Wednesday, I drove about an hour and a half to Santa Rosa, California to be present when my sister had a baby. She had had a dream pregnancy, but the baby was in a breech position. A cesarean section was scheduled for 7:45 Wednesday morning, and I was able to schedule to be there -- as her brother, not her pediatrician.

As I was driving, Melissa, I remembered your sorrow. I hoped that another child would be able to have you as a mother. I reflected on what a miracle it is whenever a healthy baby is born. Pregnancy and gestation are so complex. Human life is so fragile and strong and beautiful. What a privilege to see a baby come into the world.

When I arrived at the hospital, three generations of Greene's were gathered, tingling with excitement at the magic that was about to happen. We filled the waiting room. My sister and her husband had decided on Brandon Alan if he were a boy, and Brooke Michelle if she were a girl.

When the time came, I went into the operating room with my sister (along with her husband and parents). My job was the video camera, to record memories of one of life's greatest moments.

Through the lens, I saw her perfect legs and bottom first. "It's a Brooke Michelle, and she's beautiful!" I announced. "Congratulations!!!"

Then the obstetrician cautioned, "She has a little cleft lip." I saw my father's face fall, and felt a chill in my own heart. Suddenly the moment didn't seem perfect. I knew that modern cleft lip repair has spectacular results, but it felt as if a bubble had burst.

I rushed to the warming bed where the pediatrician was giving baby Brooke Michelle some oxygen. Was this some kind of nightmare? It looked as if she had trisomy 13!

Arrangements were made to transport Brooke to a university medical center. My sister (as is the standard practice when babies are transported) was left behind, a hollow loneliness replacing a lifetime of hopes and dreams.

As a side note, this practice of separating sick babies from their mothers is wrong. I can understand why insurance companies say that co-transporting the mothers "is not a covered benefit," but my goal is to overturn this accepted barbarism. In my sister's case, with much effort we were able to get her transferred an interminable day later. But back to more immediate concerns...

Within hours, the diagnosis was confirmed -- trisomy 13. Dreams of her first tentative steps, her first spoken "Mama," her playing happily in a park, her entire future, all vanished. This was a nightmare from which we would not wake up.

Less than a week ago, I wrote about a mom rocking her baby, knowing that he would die. Today I was in the rocking chair, holding my precious niece. She sucked on my little finger in rhythm with our rocking, cuddling in close. It was a moment that seemed at once endless and slipping away all too fast. The fullness of love and sorrow suffused my heart, and once again I knew that I would never be the same.

Looking at Brooke's misshapen face, I recalled that all babies' faces looked like hers early in development. It's just that most continue to grow and change, and hers didn't.

My children were introduced to Brooke that first evening, one at a time.

Show full page