The day my brother was born

I was 10 and eager for his arrival.

I felt a hand pressed softly against my shoulder. It was still dark, and I blinked several times to focus my eyes. Mom and Dad’s dark figures hovered over me.

Mom removed her hand and leaned in. “I’m going to the hospital to have the baby now.”

I glanced at my alarm clock—it was four in the morning. 

“Okay. Will I go to the hospital too?” I asked.

“Your uncle will swing by later and pick you and your sister up,” Mom said. “He’ll call first, so pick up the phone.”

I nodded and immediately fell back asleep. 

When I awoke a few hours later, I felt an eagerness and bursting anticipation, like it was Christmas and my birthday. I was going to get a life-changing present.

My uncle picked us up and we reached the hospital, 20 minutes away. During the ride, I kept wondering what Mom was going through. Was she in pain? Was she scared? Excited?

I thought about what my new brother would look like. I hoped he would be cute and chubby.

Today…

Today, I was going to be an older sister. My status as the youngest was going to be a distant memory but it didn’t bother me one bit. I was happy to transition into my new role as middle child.

It struck me that when this day was over, we’d have one more person at home with us. That thought made me feel strange like the first time I went to my friend Cheryl’s house and realized their family didn’t take off their shoes—even when they ate dinner.

Today was the culmination of seeing my always-thin Mom get rounder. I’d later realize that Mom fell into the category of pregnant women who “glowed.” She also only gained weight in her stomach while her arms and legs stayed slim. Her face was still perfectly angular, her skin dewy and smooth without a lick of makeup.

She stopped wearing her gold ring because her fingers were swollen. It wasn’t her wedding ring—I couldn’t be certain if she even had one. Mom had an arranged marriage to Dad, and jewelry wasn’t exactly a priority in post-war Korea (they married in the mid-1970s).

The gold ring she always wore was a ring she bought for herself. When Mom got her first job at a sewing factory in downtown L.A., she bought a simple gold band with a tiny emerald stone in the middle. It was her symbol of independence. She was making her own money and could buy what she wanted outside of Dad’s allowance. But that’s another story.

Today, it was about her son being born. The child she desperately wanted and prayed for—and finally got at the age of 36.

Waiting

My uncle, sister, and I sat in the waiting room. The black TV was mounted on the corner wall below the ceiling, and much to my disappointment, the local news was on. I wished I could watch cartoons.

A handful of other people sat around looking bored too. Some flipped through medical brochures or raggedy editions of People or Time Magazine.

I wondered if Mom was already in the operating room. It was her first surgery, so she was probably scared.

Months earlier, Mom told me to put my hand on her tummy. She asked, “Do you feel that? It feels hard, doesn’t it?”

I nodded.

After a trip to Mom’s OBGYN, we learned that the hard part of her tummy was my brother’s head. The doctor said Mom needed surgery to get the baby out. That day, I learned that babies were supposed to be upside down in a mother’s stomach so they could come out head first.

Mom said my older sister came out feet first, despite the doctors in Korea attempting to somehow turn her inside Mom’s stomach during childbirth. Mom told me she nearly passed out from the pain—there were no epidurals then. Despite their best efforts, my sister came out feet first and was healthy.

People shuffled in and out of the waiting room. An hour turned to three, four, and then I lost count. I slumped in my chair, watching the morning news morph into afternoon soap operas, cartoons, The People’s Court, and then the news again.

I practically memorized the same commercials played a gazillion times. I could tell the programming matched whatever show was on. For soaps, they played a lot of injury and accident commercials and if you were involved in one, please call the law offices of Larry H. Parker, “I’ll fight for you.” He always pointed his index finger right at the camera for emphasis. If cartoons were on, the commercials centered around Barbie and Hot Wheels. The actor kids were cartoonishly happy. It felt fake and annoying.

The birth

Finally, my uncle said we could go see my brother! He was out of Mom’s belly!

I jumped up from my seat, feeling free from the monotony of the waiting room. My sister, uncle, and I walked to the nursery area of the hospital where a large window separated a room full of newborns and a long hallway.

I knew I wouldn’t get to see Mom so I didn’t bother asking. I knew she was probably recovering or trying to sleep off the pain. I was more concerned about seeing what my new brother looked like.

I hurried to the nursery window and saw a handful of newborns inside clear, plastic cribs that looked like storage containers without lids. All the babies kind of looked the same—tiny and raw. Some cried while others slept and you could tell the gender because they were either wrapped in pink or blue blankets.

On the outside of the cribs, last names were handwritten on giant labels. I pressed my nose against the window, scanning the room furiously for a blue blanket and finally, I saw him. My eyes landed on “TAK.”

“Look!” I cried.

There he was. My brother. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t fussing. He was in a deep slumber.

I looked at my sister and uncle. We all smiled.

“He looks exactly like… Dad!” my sister squealed.

We all laughed.  

He did look like a carbon copy of Dad, except he was adorable. My uncle informed us that he was nearly eight pounds. He said that was a healthy weight.

I stared at this miniature version of Dad and wondered what life would be like after we brought him home. 

Mom named my brother Isaac, a bible name. From Vacation Bible School, I learned that Isaac was the son of Abraham whom God ordered to sacrifice at the altar. Turned out God was just testing Abraham’s obedience. When Abraham was about to plunge a knife into his son, God was like, just kidding. Here, kill this ram instead.

Mom said the name Isaac meant laughter. We’d come to find out the name fit him perfectly. He never cried and always had a smile on his face. His laugh was infectious and lit up our household.

I want to say he was around 6 months here. Baths made him very happy.

A few days later, Mom and Isaac came home. Mom couldn’t stand up straight and I could tell she was still in pain from the operation. She slept a lot. I didn’t realize having a baby would be major surgery, but it was. I later learned she had two surgeries in one day. One to remove the baby, another to tie her tubes. She informed me that’s why she was in more pain than usual.

That first night she came home, we ordered takeout from a Korean restaurant. As we sat around the kitchen table, it felt like any other night, except a newborn was sleeping on the living room couch. This tiny person was completely oblivious to his new family and that we were eating delicious Korean food in the kitchen.

I scarfed down my rice and soup so I could watch my brother sleep. Mom saw I was almost done and said, “Go check to see that the baby didn’t roll off the couch.”

I pushed my chair out and walked into the living room. He was wrapped in a blanket with cartoon animals on them. The couch cushion looked enormous underneath his tiny body.

I kneeled in front of him and stared at his round face. He didn’t have a lot of hair, but Mom said a lot of Korean babies are born bald. She said when I was born, my head was also bald, unlike my sister, who was practically born with Farrah Fawcett locks.

My brother’s skin was so soft-looking and hairless. I saw faint tracings of where his eyebrows would one day be. For now, they looked pinkish. His nostrils were perfectly round—two tiny holes where I could hear his soft breathing.

I turned my head towards the kitchen and reported back to Mom, “He didn’t roll off the couch!” 

More stories about my bro…