The Daddy Diary

Theodicy isn’t an epic poem by Homer. Theodicy is a philosophy that tries to justify the existence of an all-loving God in a world of evil and pain. It attempts to answer the question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

It’s a question I’ve been pondering for a long time, especially during the last five years. I’ve been asked so many times, “Why did God do this to Audrey?” (Hint: He didn’t, at least not directly, but that will be covered in a later blog post).

Ella is just about at the point where she is about to realize that her daddy is an idiot. At the age of four, she began asking questions like “Is ketchup a non-Newtonian fluid?” And the questions only got harder from there. So, I started watching Neil DeGrasse Tyson videos online just so I could have at least a talking point or two to answer her scientific questions. Someday she will learn that her daddy is an idiot, but I’m trying to hold that off until at least Junior High. I hope Neil can help.

August 29, 2019

“Now that Audrey is out of the womb, we got a better look at her heart. Her condition is much worse than we thought. She doesn’t have a heart defect. She has four heart defects.” the surgeon said.

He continued, “We knew about the Transposition of the Great Arteries. She also has an anomalous vein. One of her veins is just floating in her lungs, but we aren’t going to worry about that. She also has VSD, which is a hole in her heart wall. The hole normally closes during fetal development, but Audrey’s didn’t, so it will have to be patched.

She also has a leak in her pulmonary valve. This is a problem because we don’t like to do valve repair until a child is at least six months old. The tissue is so fragile at this age that it would be like sewing two Kleenex together. If the leak is bad enough, though, we have no choice but to attempt the repair. This presents another problem. If we have to do all three procedures it is going to be at least a five-hour operation. If it goes that long, I need you to know that there is a good chance she will never be able to come off the heart and lung machine.

Five years ago today:

I only had one job – do not lose the baby.

In the childbirth story, it turns out the father has an insignificant role even though they let me wear scrubs. The bulk of my responsibility was completed about 40 weeks ago.  In the hospital’s eyes, I had less responsibility than the parking attendant at the automated tollbooth.  If the barrier arm will not go up, at least that guy can make a phone call.  The hospital wouldn’t even trust me with that responsibility.  I know that for a fact because our admissions paperwork listed the following emergency contacts for Audrey:

Emergency Contact 1 – Sarah Michelle Hunt (Mother)

Emergency Contact 2 – Michelle Hunt (Parent)

If something goes wrong, for God’s sake, do not call the father, just call the mother twice and leave a message.

My Dad hated to lose. He was a gifted athlete and a fierce competitor. It wasn’t until I was 15 years old that I beat him in an athletic competition. Maybe I chose to play tennis because I thought that would be the only sport in which I could ever beat him. I never could have beaten my dad at any sport if we were both in our primes at the same time, but Father Time is undefeated. My Dad talked trash the entire match, but his 40-plus years and two bad knees were no match for me. As intense a competitor as he was, he didn’t seem upset at all when I beat him, and now I understand why.

Every parent knows there will come a time when your child is better than you in an area where you excel. And that feeling of defeat contains more pride than disappointment.

At just under 24 miles, the Lake Ponchartrain Causeway is the longest bridge in the United States. That is if you are measuring by distance. If you are measuring by anxiety production, the longest bridge in the United States is the pedestrian bridge connecting the parking garage to the hospital at Children’s Medical Center. As I walked across the bridge this morning, the classical conditioning kicked in and I felt the butterflies in my stomach awaken and start to flutter.

Today is surgery number 15 for Audrey. At least I think it’s 15. I feel like a bad parent because I honestly can’t remember how many times Audrey has been in surgery. And then you have to answer the question of whether a procedure like a cath lab counts as a surgery. So maybe it’s technically only 14. Anyway, the number is close to 15 however you define it.

When I was single, my three biggest fears were:

1. Driving a minivan
2. Living in the suburbs
3. Small children

I thought having any one of those would take away my soul. Now, I routinely drive a minivan through the suburbs chauffeuring around two small children. Instead of driving to meet friends at the local bar or restaurant, I now find myself driving to Kid’s Empire, KidMania, or Pinkberry. I remember dreading the day when I was going to have to tell my guy friends that we bought a minivan. Well, most of my guy friends are dads now, so when I told them about our new Chrysler Pacifica, they all said, “That’s a good idea. You are going to love it.” Boy, times have changed.

One year ago, we made the inevitable parental move to the suburbs. We were living in North Dallas at the time. It felt like the burbs, but I proudly told everyone that I still lived within the city limits of Dallas. It was the perfect situation for me because I could still be a dad and still think I was cool at the same time.

Having a deaf child changed all that. When we realized that Audrey would be in special education, I started asking my friends who worked in education for recommendations. My buddy Mike, a special ed teacher, said, “Go to Plano. They take special ed to another level.”

If I could give advice to anyone on how to get ahead in life it would be “Be Cute.” You can get away with anything if you are cute enough. I’m speaking from observation here, not experience.

Nobody used to tell me Gus was cute when they saw him.

But when Gus was a puppy, his cuteness was not a matter of opinion. You couldn’t help but gush over Gus.

When you look like that, you can get away with anything. When Gus was a puppy, there were countless incidents where he chewed or peed on something. Sometimes he would chew something and then pee on it. Sometimes he would pee on something and then chew it. Each time I wanted to strangle him, but how can you strangle that face? Maybe God made puppies cute so we wouldn’t kill them.