A Necessary Evil
By Brianna Coleman
I felt my body dissociate. I was aware of it happening, and I could do nothing to stop it. It took every ounce of courage to open my eyes again, but I knew I had to. I glanced down and my six-month-old was begging for help with her eyes. They glistened, full of tears. I shuddered. The sound of her desperate cry echoed around me, muffled by my inability to stay present in my body. It was as if I was submerged underwater, my brain trying to protect me from this moment.
We are taught that we must keep our children safe at all costs. The messaging for new parents remains clear. Your responsibility is to be a perfect parent, or the world will crucify you. Constant advice is pounded into you—baby-proof your home, don’t let your child wear a jacket in her car seat, bolt your dresser to the wall, avoid danger at all costs. It all sounded so insignificant at this moment. None of it mattered. Everything I had been told, all of the hope that once filled me, was dark and desolate. My precious baby twisted under my own hands as I held her down on the bed. Her eyes begged, not knowing I, too, was helpless in this moment.
It was my job to protect her. I can’t stop. She fought against me. There is no other way. I told myself. In that moment, I heard the man’s voice. “Alright, it’s done.”
Relief filled me as if I had been desperate for it my entire life. My feet were securely on the floor, and my chest released. Everything in me wanted to bolt from that room. I wanted to run away and never look back. I wanted to be anywhere else.
Like my daughter, I was a captive in that hospital room. We could not leave. I would not go. It was my job to protect her. I had to be there with her, for her. I had to make sure she knew that I would not abandon her in that moment. My pain was only a fraction of hers. It wasn’t about me. It was about her getting well.
I released my grip, and my daughter leaned into me, fighting her way towards me. She wanted me despite my part in her pain. I comforted her as the doctor left the room. Her body calmed as I held her tenderly. “It’s okay, my darling, you’re allowed to be scared. Mommy is scared, too.”
My wife clutched my hand. It had been there the entire time.
What felt like an eternity was five minutes. A five-minute medical test that would help the doctors treat a rare infection that had invaded my innocent daughter’s body.
Ten months later, this moment continues to haunt me. Those five minutes were the worst moments of my life. It was a necessary evil.
