Chapter 17

I phoned Tina every day following the birth.

‘How are they?’

‘Wonderful’ was the invariable reply, the dreamy intonation expressing her contentment at the sight of the babies as well as pleasure in their progress.

I rather selfishly hoped the dreaded bonding was not starting. I wished I could hear a cry, a gurgle, something approximating real contact. A week and a half after the birth, it appeared I was not the only one who was noticing the lack of contact I had with the babies.

‘The doctor wants to speak with you’, Tina told me. ‘He thinks you should come over and see how the babies are looked after so you know what to do. "Premies" aren’t like normal babies, he says’.

Quite how different they were, I had no idea. Concerned, I contacted Vivian. I wondered why the doctor was so worried that he wanted me to fly out there so he could tell me how to look after the babies. A few things came to mind. Did he think that because I hadn’t appeared I must be uncaring and therefore unfit to have the babies released to me? Was there something wrong with them that I didn’t know about and that he hadn’t told Tina? Or was it the famous US fear of litigation—a fear so strong that he thought I would sue if some problem developed with them that could be put down to the hospital not having given me hands on training?

My huge worry was that under English Law the babies had no right of entry. None at all. US visitors are granted the privilege of entry which can, of course, be refused. A recent scandal about an internet adoption had made immigration officers more suspicious of babies coming in from the US. I wanted to try to sort out the legal side and, now that I had got my father into good physical condition, reduce the nursing home days to a minimum. I did not want him to return to his emaciated state, nor could I bear to think of him lying bleeding and urine-soaked in a home with me thousands of miles away, unable to act. I needed to make my visit brief.

I was getting quite twitchy that my status as a carer here would lead to my being assumed to be uncaring there. A year later on a breakfast TV programme, a prominent pro-life campaigner would accuse me of just that. ‘Mail-order babies,’ she called them. How that stung.

I wondered if I would really have to persuade the hospital to release them to my care. I asked Vivian to find out what the doctor’s fears were so that I might try to allay them.

Vivian had her own ideas. ‘I haven’t spoken with the doctor so I can’t say for certain what the concern is. I’ll bet it is the litigious aspect. We live in a very litigious state. It is the paediatrician’s responsibility to be sure the babies can be cared for. However, anything you need to know he can tell you in the short time you are here. But of course I agree with you that you’ll have no problem. It may be that old double standard again, you’re a male, you aren’t even allowed to select a cot. Tina and I have no doubts whatsoever in your abilities. Here is an angle. Tina is presently caring for the babies and being given all kinds of information. She can even take the preemie class offered at the hospital if she chooses. Since she is travelling back with you she can teach you anything you can’t figure out and the doctor needn’t worry. In the meantime I’ll try to find out the doctor’s true concern.’

Would the worst happen? Would it be the hospital I would have to fight to get the babies? Again my head was buzzing with all the worst case scenarios I could imagine.

Vivian was able to set my mind at rest. ‘You have nothing to worry about. The doctor just wants to be sure you can manage. I think the only problem now is that he has no sense of who you are. As soon as you can talk with him I think he will feel reassured that everything is going to be all right. Nobody thinks that you do not care. Tina has told the doctor your predicament with your father, how you would like to be here but just can’t yet. Also how she is completely confident in your caring ability. There is also nothing wrong with the boys. All he could say about them being discharged was "it will probably be a couple of weeks and they will probably not be discharged at exactly the same time." I know you are aching to see them and hold them but try to relax. We’ll keep sending pictures and updates.’

That I wasn’t to be allowed to select a cot was another instance of this assumption that males cannot care. I had phoned a local shop’s baby department and asked for their advice about cribs versus cots and cots versus cot beds. I was being confused by choice. The woman at the other end of the phone asked me to bring my wife in. When I said I would come in, she said she would give me brochures to take home for her. I had lived with the idea of being mother and father for so long that I had forgotten that they were two people.

It was when I thought about a nanny that I realised I was out of my depth. At the time, the world-famous Norland Training College was just down the road. I phoned to ask if I could come in and talk to them.

‘No need, we can do it over the phone.’

‘Actually, I would rather speak to someone face-to-face. I’m only ten minutes away.’

‘We can do everything over the phone.’

Clearly here was a business that had more customers than it needed. I revealed all over the phone to a disembodied voice who said she would put me on their news sheet and suggested I should not have all my eggs in one basket, so to speak, and that I should contact Newbury Nannies.

Newbury Nannies seemed more interested, not to say fascinated. Nevertheless, I was left with the impression that looking after a baby was an arcane practice to which only the professionals held the key. The ladies at my father’s day care centre were more down-to-earth. ‘You keep them clean, fed and provide some entertainment.’ I felt much better.

Norland sent a nanny for interview. She was fully aware of my position. Norland had published it all. She came with a representative from Norland ostensibly to give her a lift from the station, but I am sure it was to check me out. We seemed to hit it off. The lady from Norland was supportive. That was the last I heard.

Newbury Nannies were more discreet. They asked if they could give my details to a maternity nurse. The interview was friendly enough, but she returned for a second visit. ‘Why do you lock the doors upstairs?’ she wanted to know. I had thought it was self-evident that with an elderly dementing person in the house, any room could be used as a loo and all contained hazards of some sort. I knew it would not be popular, but I had to say it. ‘I’m sure you know about caring for babies, but I think you will learn something about caring for the elderly if you come here.’ I was told that my father’s room would have to become the nursery and that he would have to go elsewhere. I had already come to that conclusion, but I knew that, however gently it may be done, I was going to be bossed. We parted on good terms. She told the agency she would take the job, then thought the better of it and changed her mind. I was on my own again, but felt strangely relieved.

When it became clear that I would not have either of the two interviewees living in my house, my thoughts turned to using an agency for non-resident night cover and involving people I knew for the other times. Meanwhile, I phoned the hospital every day to check on progress.

Tina was in there on a daily basis helping with the feeds. I spoke to the doctor who had wanted me to come over. His concern was that I should know about basic cardio-pulmonary resuscitation. We talked about how the babies were and there seemed to be basically no problems with them. During the first two weeks they took a couple of their three-hourly feeds from the bottle, but they did not always take everything in. Nevertheless in week two they achieved and exceeded their birth weights.

It was in week two that I heard Piers cry. It was the most direct contact I had with my children. I wanted to hold him. I told Tina ‘If I come out for just a couple of days as the specialist wants, I just don’t see how I could fly back here without them.’Tina’s reply—’I know. That’s how I would feel if they were my children’—was unconsciously reassuring in a double sense. As I thought, she did not see them as her own children. When we had touched on this before they were born, she had said ‘I feel more like I’m baby-sitting than pregnant.’

It was at this time that I received the photographs in a ‘brag book’—so called because parents can put it out and brag about their children. The three of them looked very much the same. At week two, Tina could tell them apart only because Piers and Lars had feeding tubes on different sides and Ian was smaller. ‘His eyes are closer together’, Tina said, ‘but I think when his head gets to the same size as the others’, he’ll look like them.’ So shocked had I been that they were all boys and so concerned with their well-being that this was the first time I had thought of how they might look. I might in time have to adjust to three very similar looking sons. Their improvement continued through week three.

Piers was progressing more rapidly and was taking all his feeds via the bottle. Ian was not far behind. Lars was some way behind them. My arrival day would depend on him. Just as soon as he got the message about sucking and learned how to suck and breathe simultaneously, he would start to make the same progress as his brothers. In the meantime, I knew that the costs were mounting.