Pronoun Problems: A Novel About Friendship, Transgender and (eventually) Ninjas

24 - Moo!

September, 1996

Hannah Riley Rubicon was born September 19, 1996 by Caesarian section. It was really gross. I saw my wife's intestines. Her intestines, people! I had always said that Samantha was beautiful inside and out, but that wasn't true at all. Out, yes, she was a vision of loveliness, but inside? That was a God damn horror show.

Hannah was pretty gross, too, honestly, covered in blood and vernix and mewling with a caprine vibrato. The medical staff meticulously examined her on a stainless steel table under bright lights which seemed to magnify her already disproportionately huge head. The net effect was not so much miracle of life as alien autopsy.

"She's gorgeous," a nurse assured me from behind her pale blue surgical mask.

"If you say so," I replied from behind my own surgical mask, which hopefully concealed my revulsion.

"Would you like to do the honors?" She handed me a pair of scissors with flat, curved blades.

Hannah twitched and flinched as I cut what remained of the umbilical cord. It felt like I was slicing raw sausage. Then they cleaned her up and swaddled her tightly in a pastel-striped blanket. To my eye, the constricting fabric looked like a tiny straitjacket, as if the three minutes she had spent in our world had already driven her insane.

The nurse handed Hannah to Samantha, who was still on the operating table, being sewn back together. Mother looked at daughter and daughter blinked back at her, while I somehow managed to capture the whole thing on video and still pictures at the exact same time, a skill that is bestowed on new fathers.

"What do you think of your new daughter?" I asked Samantha, hoping to capture this seminal moment for posterity.

"I think," she said groggily, "that I'm going to throw up." It wasn't a rejection of Hannah, it was a reaction to the anesthesia. In one smooth motion, the nurse whisked Hannah away, and just in time, because Samantha barfed all over the floor.

I edited that part out of the video.

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Visiting hours began at 11:00 a.m. My in-laws showed up in our room at 11:01 with an armful of stuffed animals and sublime grandparental smiles, which revealed a kind of joy for which the English language currently has no word, so I'm inventing one: Grandhappy. And I'm trademarking that bitch, so do not even think of using that word without my permission. Believe me, my lawyer will be more than grandhappy™ to sue you.

I had already gotten a glimpse of grandhappiness™ the previous night, when I called my own parents to inform them of their granddaughter's arrival. After I delivered the news, there was a silence on the line, which I thought was a lost connection, but discovered it was the two of them hugging and crying.

They then asked to speak to Hannah so I held up the receiver to her ear while my parents introduced themselves, told her they loved her, and said that they'd be flying out in a couple of weeks to meet her. It reminded me of when I was a kid and would call home from sleep-away camp asking to talk to our dog. The main difference being that Starr actually understood a few words. She was also able to catch squirrels, something which Hannah was never able to manage at any age.

Now, I watched Carol and Vic gasp with delight at Hannah's every movement, gesture and noise. When she yawned, they both totally lost their shit. Carol pressed her palms to her cheeks in wonderment while Vic nearly fell off his chair, he was laughing so hard. This didn't turn out to be a one-time thing, either. Once a week, Samantha would drive out to Vic and Carol's house, where she would put Hannah on a blanket on the floor and they would all just... watch her.