The Book of Joy

by Dalai Lama XIV

Mpho asked if I still had the picture of my own twin daughters just after they were born prematurely, when they were in the neonatal intensive care unit. One of our daughters had had a prolapsed cord, which was blocking her from descending through the birth canal, and her heartbeat and oxygen level were plummeting. The obstetrician, as she was trying to use a vacuum extractor on our daughter’s head, had told Rachel that she had one more push to get the baby out or they would have to do an emergency cesarean. Eliana was already in the birth canal, so a cesarean was no guarantee of a safe delivery. As a doctor, Rachel knew, as I did, that every second counted, as Eliana’s oxygen level was getting dangerously low. I’ve never witnessed anything like the strength Rachel had exhibited as she threw herself headlong into the pain and wrenched every ounce of maternal will from her body to push our daughter out. Eliana was born blue, unresponsive, and not breathing. Her Apgar score was one—out of ten—which meant she was barely alive. She was rushed to the crash cart, where the doctors tried to revive her, and told Rachel to speak to her baby, the voice of the mother having an almost magical healing effect, even in the high-risk operating room. We waited for the longest moments of our lives as the doctors tried to bring her around, preparing to intubate her. And then, in a moment of unspeakable joy and relief, Eliana sputtered, took her first breath, and began to cry with life. The r...