Meet Saybie, The Baby!
By Ken K. Gourdin
Meet Saybie, the Baby.
When I first posted this, I attempted to copy and paste several photos of Saybie, along with one of the nurses who cared for her. In one, a close-up featuring Saybie herself, she sports the cutest li’l grin you’ve ever seen on the cutest li’l goyl you’ve ever seen in your life. Alas, you’ll have to take my word for it, since my attempt to post photos didn’t work. Saybie, the Baby, was just discharged from a San Diego CA area hospital, tipping the scales at a whopping five pounds! Perhaps that doesn’t sound like a whole heckuva lot, and maybe it’s not, but remember: Everything’s relative. Guess how much Saybie, the Baby weighed when she was born at the ripe old age of 23 weeks?
She was a teeny-tiny, itty-bitty, hint-of-a-wisp of a little thing who weighed in at a whole . . .
Half a pound!
So five whole pounds, to use one of President Donald Trump’s words, is YUGE!
Here’s a link to coverage of Saybie, the Baby’s discharge from the hospital: https://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2019/may/29/saybie-tiniest-surviving-baby-born-23-weeks-three-/
I confess, I have a soft spot in my heart for preemies. I was one. I admit, by comparison, my story doesn’t sound all that impressive. I was nearly ten weeks premature, and I tipped the scales at 3 pounds, 5 ounces. I was “big” for that stage of development: I should have only weighed about 2 pounds, 4 ounces, and I lost weight down to 2 pounds, 10 ounces after I was born.
When my mom commented to another preemie mom how long it took me to get back up to my birth weight, my mom got a huge dose of perspective when the woman said, “Actually, that’s pretty good. My little girl never made it back up to her birth weight.”
Understand, while babies who are much smaller and who are born much earlier than than I was are saved routinely today (many with few or no ill effects, while I, by contrast, have Cerebral Palsy), when I was born, the concept of the micropreemie (I believe the standard is two pounds or less) hadn’t even been widely considered yet. The nation’s first Neonatal Intensive Care Unit/NICU had opened at Connecticut New Haven Medical Center four years before, and I believe the first in the Intermountain West had opened at University of Utah Hospital the year before I was born. (Why wasn’t I sent there? I don’t know for sure, but I suspect that the thinking was that the trip alone might’ve killed me.)
I admit, my experience and my perspective has left me with a lack of patience for many on the other side of the abortion debate. I’m not reflexively or unreasonably anti-abortion. I simply don’t think it should be used as a means of birth control when there are so many other effective methods available. In most cases, if you cannot be bothered to carry a child at least long enough to give it up for adoption to someone who does want it, the solution is simple: Don’t have sex.
I’m puzzled as to why, in so many cases, it seems that a woman is so eager to give up the enormous power she could wield over a man by agreeing to jump into bed with the first man who says he loves her without getting some kind of commitment (ideally, as old fashioned as this sounds, that commitment should involve marriage) first.
Then again, I’m still my only child, that’s been true for longer, now, than I care to admit, and I have successfully attracted the collective indifference of The Female of the Species in its entirety, for lo, these many years (no small feat, that!) So what do I know? But perhaps Saybie, the Baby and I have been able at least to provide you with food for thought.