Light Switch
On where power lives
My toes curl when anything medical is brought up. Needles, surgeries, and yes, even sitting in a hospital conference room did the trick. Sterile settings and I don’t mix well.
When our birthing class instructor went around the room asking what we feared most about delivery, I was one of the few men willing to answer. I opened up about being scared of two things: 1) a sudden emergency or high-pressure situation and 2) my general uneasiness in medical environments, especially new ones, preventing me from supporting my wife. Also known as: “I don’t want to be the dad that passes out.”
Fast-forward through a couple of weeks chock-full of prep and nesting: it was a long-awaited Friday.
In fact, I woke up and told Kaitlin in an enthusiastic voice, “It’s gonna be a great day!” like I had reincarnated as Tony the Tiger overnight.
She begrudgingly looked at me as if to say, “OK buddy, you’re not the one nearly 37 weeks pregnant on a book deadline.”
Little did we know just how right I was.
Meanwhile, I had my own work pressure: handing off a design project I'd spent the better part of a year on ahead of paternity leave. With my calendar blocked over several hours, I thought our next appointment would be routine. Why wouldn't I?
Little did we know just how wrong I was.
When we arrived, our nurse busted out her party trick: making Kaitlin look like the back of a TV with all the wires needed to run her usual nonstress test (NST). Except this time, it wasn’t quite as usual—let alone stress-free.
Even though our baby passed, our newly appointed OB (after the one we loved went on maternity leave herself) noticed some deceleration in his heartbeat at the beginning of the test. Off to the hospital we went for extended monitoring.
As we sat in triage, our bingo card started to feel like it was meant for an entirely different game.
“You’re going to need to stay overnight so we can continue to monitor you,” the nurse said matter-of-factly.
What’s that you say? An all-too-familiar scene: canceled dinner plans with friends in exchange for the only gown a woman never chooses to wear.
Anxiety has entered the chat.
As she was transferred to a delivery room, we started to wonder what was in our control, if anything. To spare you any medical details that might make you pass out, the gist was this: it was go time.
Oddly enough, there was something we could control: how our son would enter the world. Our first reprieve in half a dozen hours.
Once we chose a C-section, the pace picked up.
“So… when is this going to… happen?” Kaitlin delicately asked.
The on-call doctor we’d just met replied, “8 hours from the last time you ate. So, around 9 p.m. tonight.”
That was in about two hours. We were both shocked.
With everything set, the care team gave us just enough confidence that I could make it back in time. So I raced to our house and gave Gallatin Avenue a taste of what it’s like to live in Chicago.
Home, sweet home.
But suddenly, I was a contestant on Supermarket Sweep—franticly grabbing whatever hospital-stay essentials I could before a clock I couldn’t see ran out.
It was a miracle I snagged the nursing bra.
Thankfully, I got back in time for a very important moment: documenting our last time with dual income and no kids. Shoutout to the anesthesiologist for the idea and laughing like it was the first time he’d suggested it.
As Taylor Swift radio played and we talked about astrology signs I know nothing about, but went on like I did anyway, I felt my feet settle. I started to focus on giving the best support I could, rather than checking out.
None of this was in our birth plan, but we made as much peace with it as we could and moved forward together as a family. We were living the Serenity Prayer.
Our son arrived raising his left arm out of the womb like he was seeing his favorite band for the 258th time. Clinical as can be, it was the most beautiful performance I’ve ever seen.
I couldn’t be more proud of him, of Kaitlin, and of myself.
We did it.
Did I want to control every aspect? You bet my anxiety did.
What was more important? Becoming who my family needed me to be.
Even though I was scared of confronting the exact situations I said out loud to strangers, when those moments came, I grew. My bravery showed up right on time.
Which got me thinking: maybe we misunderstand where power comes from after all.
Power already lives inside us all. Ironically, we must let go of control to feel it.
For me, once I surrendered to this unwieldy situation, courage followed. When we hold onto things too tightly, our power doesn’t have room to reveal itself. Instead, there’s freedom in accepting what we can’t change—trusting no matter what—we’re capable of handling anything that comes our way. Now that’s power.
Even though I still loathe medical environments, I now know I can rise to the occasion. And thank god this dad doesn’t pass out, because I hope another hospital visit or two to continue growing our family is in our future.
May you find your own power when you need it most.
Luca, our light, this one’s for you.
Light Switch
Off
Without power
Waiting for our sweet
Golden hour
If seeing you meant
Flipping a switch
We’d never have known darkness
But nobody was in on
Having a timer
Go off
When we thought
We had a reservation
Immediately reaching
For more than just existing
No imagination needs stretched
To recognize brighter light
Within our family
Come what may
Our promise will always
And forever be
Seeing you shine
On
Sam Miller enjoys finding double meanings. But his greatest joys? His wife (Kaitlin), son (Luca), two cats (Olive and Fig), surpassing college football gym PRs, curating itineraries for bucket list destinations (🇫🇷🇮🇹🇲🇽🇵🇹🇬🇷 so far!), and learning lessons along the way.
Want to see everything in between? Follow Sam on Instagram.