This First Person column is the experience of Patrick Kwok-Choon, who was born and raised in Montreal. For more information about CBC’s First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
I was on the set of Star Trek: Discovery and my character Gen Rhys had been thrust into the captain’s chair, burdened with making life-and-death decisions for himself and his crew.
I can’t believe this was happening to me.
It was a milestone for my character — the first time as acting captain on the Starship Discovery — but also an important moment for me as a lifelong fan of the franchise.
Sitting in that chair, I couldn’t help but think of the iconic performances by Patrick Stewart, Kate Mulgrew and Avery Brooks. The weight of their legacy was palpable, and being part of that tradition felt incredibly significant.
But my real concern wasn’t the scene; it was the crisis unfolding at home.
At 3 a.m., my wife went into labour. When her contractions increased, we called our midwife at 9 a.m. Despite the unpredictability of childbirth, she assured me, based on her extensive experience, that it was OK for me to go to work. She mentioned that while it’s not guaranteed, deliveries typically occur at night, offering me some peace of mind.
I was contractually obligated to go into work that day and my wife reassured me that her contractions were only uncomfortable, not painful. She insisted I go.
With a heavy heart, I asked my neighbour to watch over my wife and to call me if there was any emergency. I would come home immediately, regardless of the consequences.
When I arrived at work, my castmates greeted me with joy. The higher-ups were quickly informed and a production head came down to assure me that everything was being done to expedite my departure. The shooting schedule was rearranged so all my scenes would be filmed first. I immediately called my wife to share the news.
As I spoke with her, another production head approached, offering congratulations and reiterating the plan. But he added, “If things get too crazy at home and we haven’t finished, just bail.” I told him my wife felt we were still in the early phases of labour, and we should still have time. He leaned in, gave me a hug, and whispered in my ear, “Just bail.”
All hands on deck
I was at a loss for words — studios aren’t obligated to accommodate actors in such situations. I’ve heard terrible stories of actors unable to attend births, weddings and even funerals due to rigid shooting schedules. Yet here, amid the bustling set of a multimillion-dollar shoot, this person was giving me permission to prioritize my family. It was a heartfelt gesture that I’ll never forget.
Returning to the chair, it felt like an actual “all hands on deck” moment straight out of Star Trek. Each department rallied together with precision and urgency, and I could feel their support willing me forward. Together, we navigated the challenges of the day, ensuring I could fulfill my duty as both actor and father-to-be.
After what felt like an eternity, the first assistant director called out, “That’s a wrap on Patrick. He’s free to leave.”
I leaped out of my chair and shouted, “I’m going to have a baby!” to the applause of the cast and crew.
At this point, I had been at work for nine hours and it was 8 p.m. I rocketed out of that studio at warp speed. When I got home, my wife’s contractions had reached the point where the midwife advised it was time to go to the hospital. I couldn’t believe my luck. Despite the chaos of the day, I had made it just in time for the delivery.
Five hours later, as I held my newborn in my arms, I was overwhelmed with a sense of relief and profound joy. The juxtaposition of the day’s events felt surreal — acting out life-and-death stakes on set only to experience the miracle of life in reality.
My child is now 20 months old. Just this weekend, I had the luxury of taking my child out for a morning stroll, pushing them for what felt like an eternity on the swings, and sitting in silence together on a park bench as I watched them slowly gobble up a muffin, basking in the absolute wonder of this little miracle. A gift. My gift.
I am miles away from the fearful day on set and have come safely to the other side of things – just as I’m light-years from my youth when I feared becoming a parent because, in my naive mind, it meant getting trapped into something or sacrificing my career, time and energy.
But I think most parents would agree: what you gain is absolutely priceless. No longer do I find myself consumed with work or clinging desperately to career aspirations. I have reshaped my understanding of what’s really important to me and my life is immensely richer for it.
The day I spent in the captain’s chair on Discovery will forever be etched in my memory, not just for the professional milestone it represented but for the personal journey it paralleled. The lines between fiction and reality blurred, the weight of commanding a starship colliding with the anticipation of welcoming new life into the world.
It was a stark reminder of the beautiful, unpredictable nature of life, where our most significant moments often unfold in the most unexpected ways.
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