Forget it, Jake

I imagine that lots of people read this blog and think, "How cool! I think I will go have a baby in Romania!" Let me take this moment to counsel against it. The doctors we dealt with were all excellent. Our primary OB/GYN, in particular, did such an amazing job on the c-section that Io was up walking the next day and out of the hospital in two days. Pretty incredible for what is, any way you slice it (ha ha! C-section humor!), a major surgery.

Half of Io's nursing class showed up for the surgery

But there is a sharp division between the excellent doctors and surgeons, and the staff of nurses and LVNs who run the after-care portion of the experience. Our two days in the Romanian hospital were pretty awful. In their defense, the hospital is terribly understaffed and undersupplied, and there's no real specialization among the nurses. So the person who is taking care of my post-partum wife is also taking care of the person with the broken arm next door and the person with septic ulcers across the hall. Everything is in such short supply that if you have family around, your family better bring you food and water, because the hospital isn't going to -- their food and water are reserved for people who have nobody else to provide it. But regardless of the reasons, from our perspective it's just a total lack of care and attention. I have been in prisons where people are better cared for. That sounds like humorous hyperbole, but in this case it's literally true.

On top of that, the factorylike Romanian medical tradition slammed down in full force, and would not be moved. Babies are kept in a neonatal ward and nobody but the mother is allowed to see them. Every time I walked up there to try and see my son some nurse would catch me and throw me out. Tania couldn't even get onto the floor. We paid extra to put Io in a semi-private room but the nurses didn't really like people visiting there, either. They would let me stay for a bit but then they would come kick me out. I wasn't allowed to go with Io to feedings, bathings, etc, so I spent a lot of time sitting around the hospital hallway playing games on my iPhone.

We were luckier than most, though, because Io knows lots of people at the hospital. At left in this photograph is Flori, our friend and English student. She dropped by Io's room regularly and provided moral support. At right is Eliza, who was our guardian angel. Although she doesn't work in the neonatal ward, she really stepped up and helped all of us deal with the hospital and get into areas that we wouldn't normally be able to go into. I went through lots of doors marked "Access strictly prohibited!" in Eliza's wake. She also videotaped the c-section for us, which is the source of the two photos before this one. I can't thank her enough for everything she did for us.

Fortunately Io recovered very well, and we were ready to leave the hospital early. But crazy Romanian red tape conspired to keep us there. You have to register the baby at the hospital before you leave. But the hospital wouldn't accept me as Gabriel's father because our marriage certificate was in English. Despite the fact that Io and I were both there, with our IDs, telling them that the baby was ours, they told us to get the marriage certificate translated, stamped at the hospital, sent to another "sector" to be stamped by the local government in Titan (where Io lives), then returned to the hospital. This process was supposed to take three days. So although there was no medical reason for Io to be at the hospital, and in fact it was hard on the baby and everyone else for her to be there, they wanted to keep her there because of the paperwork. They gave us the distinct impression that they were willing to have Gabriel grow to adulthood right there in the hospital if necessary.

Eventually we busted out through the clever ruse of just leaving the "father" portion blank on the registration. But when we went to get the baby's birth certificate today, we ran into the same problem: they wouldn't put me down as the father until we get our marriage certificate translated -- despite the fact that it has the special stamp from the Hague, and despite the fact that we've actually been married twice, once here in Romania. And what if we weren't married? Who knows. The government office sent us to a notary, and the notary sent us to a translation service, and demanded that we not only translate the marriage certificate, but also my passport. I finally blew up. Translate my passport? Passports are all the same. Gagi just shrugged and said, "It's Romania."

For now, though, mom and baby are home, which is a huge improvement. It's a lot easier for Io to keep fed and hydrated, and everyone is available to help with Gabriel (and everyone can spend time with him). He's happier, we're happier, everybody wins. His first night at home was about what we expected -- lots of waking up for feeding and changing, but since neither of us has a day job we can just nap when he naps and it's all good. Or at least, less bad.

Having Gabriel home is amazingly great, though. We've all gotten to spend lots of time with him and it's been awesome. Which is good because, you know...eighteen more years.