Sorry — Vientiane, Laos | December 2009
“Jason Khanthavixay Tuesday”
I’m home, alone. It’s been a very hectic day.
“Oh, the water,” Pan, my wife, said this morning. She sounded surprised.
My god, it’s just like in the movies, I thought, the water has broken. Despite the fact that it was only 4:30 in the morning, I called her uncle to drive us to the hospital. After nine overwhelming months, the time had come.
When we arrived at Setthathirath Hospital on the outskirts of Vientiane, the atmosphere felt a bit strange. In the parking lot in front of the entrance a small fleet of shiny new ambulances, donated by the Japanese, stood lined up, but there was not a soul to be seen. Once we got inside, the front part of the hospital was also eerily quiet. It turned out that this was because all the rooms were reserved for emergencies concerning the VVIP (Very-Very Important Person!) guests of the 25th Southeast Asian Games (SEA-Games) which Vientiane is hosting. Because the VVIP area was off limits for the general public, however, the part of the hospital we were directed to was ridiculously busy.
After we registered, a grumpy, overworked-looking nurse escorted us to a waiting area with a disturbing view of the busy emergency room. She told us to wait for a doctor, and then disappeared. Pan’s contractions intensified as we watched a steady stream of traffic accident victims being brought into the emergency room. I was getting restless: the arrogant withholding of information in Vientiane’s hospitals really gets to me sometimes. We should have gone to a hospital in Thailand which are cleaner and more professional. But Pan doesn’t trust the Thai. Finally, a doctor showed up who, after some preliminary questions, took Pan to a delivery room. I was told to stay put. I waited.
About twenty or so minutes later, one of Pan’s sisters tapped me on the shoulder and asked where she was. I pointed to the door of the delivery room and to my surprise she simply knocked on the door and was allowed in. When I tried the same, I was told to stay outside and wait… After what seemed like ages, Pan came out of the delivery room, looking exhausted.
“And…?” I asked.
“Not yet,” she replied, “Going to toilet.”
I asked the accompanying nurse what the expectations were, and was told it would take a long time. “Maybe you should go out and get some lunch,” she said.
Luckily a friend of mine, who I’d texted earlier with the news, showed up and so we walked to the cafeteria for an early lunch followed by a cup of lukewarm coffee. A father of two himself, he’d been through this ordeal twice before and so he managed to calm my nerves a bit.
When we got back to the waiting area near the delivery rooms, Pan’s sister called me over.
“Come, come,” she said. “It’s the boy!”
She dragged me to the delivery room. This time, I was allowed in. In a bed to the right, I saw Pan, holding a baby boy. As soon as the nurses saw me, they giggled, grabbed the baby boy and handed him to me. I clumsily accepted the little bundle and was instantly ridiculed because, of course, I was holding him the wrong way; I didn’t know what to do.
“What he name?” a doctor asked.
“Jason,” I said, ignoring the misused pronoun, “Jason Khanthavixay van Gaans,” the name we had agreed upon if the baby turned out to be a boy, something we hadn’t known. Poor Jason had changed sex at least three or four times throughout the pregnancy with the doctors taking another guess with every check-up.
“No, no, he name, not he happy birthday,” the doctor interrupted my thoughts, pointing at my family name.
I’d forgotten, the way the Lao pronounce my family name, it translates as Tuesday or ວັນອັງຄານ (voangkhan) and today is Tuesday. Quickly, I showed my Lao driver’s licence to prove that my family name really is what he perceived to be Tuesday. This seemed to satisfy him and he copied the name onto the birth certificate.
After more paperwork, Pan was brought to a room in which there were already more than a dozen other women with their new-born babies and other family members. We had wanted to book a private room, but because of the SEA-Games all the private rooms were reserved; empty but reserved, just in case a VVIP might have a headache. In a crowded room full of screaming babies, I tried to make myself useful but was failing miserably; too confused.
“Just go home,” said Pan, “we’ll be fine. My sister is here and the doctor says we can go home tomorrow. Go and come pick us up tomorrow morning.”
I felt like it would be the wrong thing to do, but knew she was right. I was in the way here, more trouble than good. I said my goodbyes and drove home, my head spinning.
Since I got home I’ve just been sitting here, staring into nothingness. I realise my whole world has changed today and will never be the same; it’s not about me or Pan anymore, from now on it’s all about that new-born boy, Jason Khanthavixay Tuesday. It is an immense responsibility; how will we know what to do? Sure, we’ve had nine months to get ready and I’ve read countless books about what to do with a new-born baby, but it’s just not that simple, is it?
Sorry Jason, forgive me; for I do not know what I am doing. I hope I won’t make too many stupid mistakes, welcome to my life.
Kyteman. Sorry on Lowlands 2009 [Live]. Biddinghuizen, the Netherlands: Kytopia. (2009)
This autobiographical sketch comes from my bundle In the Moment: A Disjointed Audiobiography which is available at Amazon.com. (USD 9.50 for a paperback or USD 4.50 for the Kindle version)
