No Such Inoculations As These

Zoe Fiona is 9+ weeks young, and Mommy and Daddy couldn't have fallen more deeply in love together than this. August 5 will mean that Kendra and I have been covenantally wedded as one for six years -- six wildly enchanting and boldly loving years. Our common hope was to have given birth to a child after our fifth anniversary, and indeed, God has gifted us with grace upon grace, time and time again.

Now 9 weeks old, Zoe is an astonishing child to witness; she is a song that begs to be sung, a poem to be recited, a prayer prayed. Indeed, she is everything her name means to say. She is life. New life. Broken, yes, but a healing life. Staunchly resilient, though a vulnerable life. Hopeful, joyful, and bountiful life. And we are richer and better God's people because of her.

On Monday, June 26, nine weeks to the day after her birth, and the day after her mommy's birthday, Zoe received a battery of vaccines -- four shots -- all administered in the time it takes to realize that one has sneezed. The woman responsbile - Nancy -- the "Inoculation Nurse" has a rather thankless job. Knowing that to be true, we - the anxious, nauseated, fearful parents we were - decided that the first thing that needed to be done was to say "Thank You" to this woman whose life-vocation it is to prick tiny legs with sharp needles in order to administer a virus that protects against viruses. After saying, "Thank you for what you do" (which was a first for her, it seems) she asked one of us to hold Zoe down, which is language we hadn't heard before, new constellations by which we have never navigated, curses we've never been given.

Daddy nominated himself: Mommy stood by her sweet, rounded head. Prick - Scream, Scream - Prick - Scream, Scream, Scream - Prick- Scream, Scream - "Now, hear's the worst one!" - Prick - Silence - Scream, Scream, Scream.

In a matter of 45 seconds, the whole thing was over, needles neatly stowed, band-aids applied, charts marked, nurse vanished, and little Zoe returned to peace. Mommy and Daddy embraced one another and wept like babies. Zoe is assured she will not get Polio or Diptheria, but there were no shots to take away the pain for Mom and Dad. For Hepatitis B, sure thing. For a parent's first broken heart over their first child's first agony -- there are no such inoculations as these.

The worry of side-effects has passed. Our prayers for long-term health despite this barrage of poisons have not. And our tears of compassion, sadness, and hope, while dry, gather still in the reservoirs of what it means to be in the middle of becoming a parent.

...and the mystery of it is...

We are more beautifully a family because of it all, which is why Nancy -- whose face was the face of Jesus for us -- is to be thanked. Her work is to give what we think we do not need, but most certainly do -- a healing of sorts, before the fuller sickness comes; it's work that is painful but costly, free but never cheap. With our tears we remember our baptism, and with her sharps, we are healed.

jonathan