A Journey of Hope: The Emotional Birth of Our Miracle Daughter, Dylan Bell
Dorothy and I try to write family stories for our children—snapshots of moments that shaped our lives and theirs. Occasionally, I share these stories on the various Facebook pages and groups that I administer. It’s a bit of an indulgence, but one rooted in love and a desire to preserve our memories.
Dorothy and I deeply wanted our youngest daughter, Dylan. As we approached 40, conceiving and carrying a viable pregnancy proved challenging. We faced heartbreak with both a miscarriage and an ectopic pregnancy, making our dream feel almost impossible.
Then, one day, in the midst of two demanding political campaigns in British Columbia, Dorothy sat me down in the living room of our home on Grand Boulevard in North Vancouver. The radio, as if on cue, was playing Bob Dylan’s “Political World.” With tears in her eyes and a hopeful smile, Dorothy shared the news—she was pregnant. Even more, the doctor had confirmed that the pregnancy was viable.
We were overwhelmed with joy and relief. At that moment, surrounded by the music and the magnitude of our journey, we knew our baby would be named Dylan—boy or girl.
Seven months later, we were in Grace Hospital, and Dorothy was being prepped for a C-section. A nurse entered the room with a machine to check the baby’s heartbeat. I was incredibly nervous as I watched her apply jelly to Dorothy’s large belly. She placed the handheld unit on Dorothy’s stomach—no sound. My hands began to shake.
The nurse adjusted the fetoscope and tried again, but still, there was no sound of a heartbeat. She looked up from the monitor and muttered, “Damn it, it’s dead!” Then, seeing the horror on my face, she quickly yelled, “I’m sorry! I meant the battery—the battery!”
Dorothy later told me that she wasn’t worried—she had figured it out. The nurse replaced the battery, and after an awkward apology, confirmed that the heartbeat was strong. She then escorted us to the delivery room, where I was instructed to wait outside and down the hall until Dorothy’s preparation was complete.
The hallway was busy, with doctors and nurses rushing back and forth. They assured me I would be called in for the birth in about 15 minutes. But as half an hour passed, and then another, my worry grew. I was on the verge of losing it when two doctors quickly walked past me. One of them was visibly agitated, berating his colleague.
“Anencephaly should have been caught—there’s no excuse! The baby was born without a brain!”
Before I could even process what I had just heard—before I could say, “What the hell?”—the doctors disappeared into another room. For the next five minutes, I sat there with my head in my hands, sobbing, wanting to be at Dorothy’s side to help her with the grief she would be feeling.
Just as I was ready to barge into the room, a nurse appeared and asked me to accompany her into the delivery room as they were ready to proceed with the C-section. I was confused as I walked in and saw different doctors on one side of a tent and Dorothy’s torso on the other.
“Sorry it took so long, but the epidural freezing just didn’t take,” Dorothy said as I cozied up to her on one side of the tent. Her voice was calm, and she even managed a smile. At that moment, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, knowing that we were finally about to meet our baby, Dylan.
C-section births are set up quite differently than natural births, with a large surgical drape acting as a barrier between the upper body and the lower body where the doctors perform the operation. Dorothy’s head and mine were on one side of the tent, and the doctors worked on the other side.
I bent down close to Dorothy, trying my best to be a supportive partner, but I was an emotional wreck after the roller coaster we had just experienced. Still, I was excited—finally, we would get to meet Dylan.
Dorothy whispered to me that it was amazing as she didn’t feel a thing. Another five minutes went by, and suddenly we heard the first cry of life. Overwhelmed with joy, we couldn’t wait for the doctor’s okay to see our little baby girl.
I popped my head over the curtain and, to my surprise, was greeted by a surreal sight. Dylan’s tiny face peered out from the stomach—her mouth and eyes visible, making her look like a character from a science fiction movie. It was a startling yet miraculous moment, and I quickly ducked back down, eager to see her fully delivered and in our arms.
This jack-in-the-box approach had me popping up and down several times until Dylan was cleaned, swaddled, and placed into Dorothy’s arms. It was a joyous moment—one filled with relief, love, and gratitude for the miracle we had so desperately hoped for.
Post-delivery, Dorothy and I held our baby girl and marveled at the wonder of life. We looked into each other’s eyes, taking turns holding our miracle. After some time, I left the hospital, and Dorothy was wheeled into her room to rest.
Later that day, I sped home to pick up Adam and Justine and brought them back to the hospital. They eagerly held their baby sister, staring into her amazing eyes with awe and affection.
In that moment, the miracle of life was undeniable, and our hearts overflowed with gratitude and love for our growing family.
