My mother had nodded woefully, but in an encouraging voice, she had said, “Krishan, wherever you are, my blessings are with you. Be safe and happy.”
In May 1977, I received a letter from the Immigration and Naturalization Department requesting an interview to complete the process of becoming a US citizen. Over six months earlier, at the encouragement of a friend, I had applied for citizenship. Now, as I read the letter, I felt a strange sense of ambivalence instead of the excitement I expected to feel. Getting my citizenship would help me if I ever had the opportunity to become administrator of a hospital, and it would also make it easier to sponsor family members to come to the US, but now that I held the interview letter in my hands, a realization hit me. If I went through with it, I would be giving up the country of my birth. What would my parents think? They were hoping I would take care of them in their old age. I had promised my mother many times that I would return to India one day, and now, here I was one step away from getting US citizenship. The advantages of becoming a US citizen swayed me in that direction, but was I doing the right thing?
In the end, I decided to go through with it. The interview went smoothly and was not as difficult as I imagined it to be. By the time I received my letter of citizenship a week later, inviting me to a ceremony at the courthouse, any ambivalence about giving up my birth country had faded.
On June 20, 1977, I attended the ceremony to receive my US citizenship. Raj, Mrs. Gilreath, and two of my neighbors came for the ceremony. I stood at the front of the room with fifteen other people from different countries, each of us swearing to protect this country and abide by its laws and the Constitution. America felt like my true home, the place where I fit in so well, creating a place for myself and pursuing a rewarding career. Now, with documentation to prove it, I could truly say I belonged here. I was no longer a foreigner just off the boat. I was an official American citizen.
On the evening of July 4, 1977, our third son came into the world amid the sounds of fireworks and showers of color lighting up the sky. We named him Rajan, for my wife, thinking he would also be called Raj as he grew up.
The day after Rajan’s birth, his pediatrician, Dr. Cooper, came to examine him at Christ hospital. After examining Rajan, Dr. Cooper said, “He looks good, and his vitals are okay, but he does have abnormalities. One, he was born with club feet. And two, I cannot feel his testes. They have not descended yet.”
Rajan was also an unusually large baby, weighing nine pounds, eight ounces, so Dr. Cooper asked Raj if she or anyone in her family had a history of diabetes. But Raj did not have diabetes (which blood work confirmed), and as far as we knew, there was no history of diabetes in her family. The doctor stated that the abnormalities she’d discussed with us were all she was seeing at the moment, but she would order tests to be run that day for chromosomal studies to see if there were any problems with his brain. She seemed cautious, not overly concerned.
“It is normal,” she explained, “that when there are a couple of abnormalities in a child, there may be something else there as well.” She also explained that many kids are born with club feet. An orthopedic surgeon could perform surgery to correct the issue. Rajan could also wear corrective shoes with a brace at an early age, which might resolve the issue without surgery. Regarding his testicles, she explained that those could be brought down at a later stage.
Raj and I were concerned about the news of Rajan’s health, but after the doctor left, we tried to stay optimistic, telling ourselves that his feet and testes could be corrected, and then everything would be all right.
I drove to Providence Hospital, thinking that work would keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t worry too much about Rajan. On the way there, I prayed that God would bless the situation and that he would take care of our son and strengthen him. I felt so much love for this new baby, and my heart ached for the struggle he was already facing so early in life.
When I reached my office, I reviewed several reports various managers placed on my desk, and then I went to Mr. Gilreath’s office to update him on Rajan. I told him about the club feet and also that his testes had not descended.
“Well, he doesn’t need those yet,” Mr. Gilreath joked. “Tell the doctor he has plenty of time.”
That evening, I returned to Christ Hospital to be with Raj. The nurse informed me that they had transferred Rajan to the Children’s Hospital Medical Center in Cincinnati due to rapid breathing and signs of jaundice. The doctor felt that he may have left upper-lobe pneumonia. After four hours of labor and a C-section, Raj was holding up well, although she was tired. We spoke optimistically about Rajan, assuring each other that, once treated, he would be a healthy, happy baby.
The next day, after working for a few hours, I visited Rajan in the Children’s Hospital. When I arrived, the doctors told me that Rajan’s rapid breathing was due to a collapsed right lung. They had drawn blood and ordered a chromosomal test, which they were waiting for the results of, and in the meantime, they continued performing tests.
On July 7, the doctors told me they performed an EKG
