Mother’s Day: Fast Forward

I once had a friend who celebrated her birthday for the entire month each year. Every day, she gave herself some sort of present. That’s how I feel about Mother’s Day..it’s Mother’s Day Month. Sincere apologies to my middle children, but I need to skip ahead to child #4 because it’s his birthday today. In 1979, May 13th was Mother’s Day. So, Nick was a true Mother’s Day present.

By this time, we had moved back to Northwest Indiana and were living in Highland, Indiana. Again, pregnancy was blah, blah, blah, but a notable difference was that I was POOPED. With three other children at home, the fatigue was overpowering. It was all I could do to get the 6, 4, and 2 year olds back and forth to school, activities, baths, etc. In addition, Child #3 was impersonating the Energizer Bunny. His capacity and stamina were remarkable. His parents’ capacity, however, was not. But more on that later. The two older girls were very helpful, but the prospect of having one more kid in the house, and a baby at that, was pretty daunting.

Despite the fatigue and apprehension, things were advancing to their inevitable conclusion. It’s May, now, and as with the other kids, my due date had long passed with no baby in sight. At the last doctor’s visit, the doctor said it would be “this weekend.” So, on Friday, I prepped my father and stepmother and told them we would need them on call to stay with the older three kids.

On Saturday, May 12th, I had been having contractions all day, but so what? I’d been having them for weeks! Since they were very strong, I called my dad and said it MIGHT be tonight. A couple of hours later, the contractions are gone. So, dad and stepmom get into their jammies and settle in for the night.–at their house. An hour later, I took a shower and yes, the fun had begun. Another call and the folks were on their way (still in their jammies). Contractions were fast and furious, but I tried not to alarm Gene, so I just sat patiently until the folks arrived. They raced in, we raced out. I decided to get into the back seat just in case. (In case of what?)

As we turned the corner past our house, I told Gene how fast the contractions were coming. He remained calm. When we got to the ER, I was beyond coherent, but the nurses were able to whisk me away into the labor unit (which of course was sans the horrors of the hospital for baby #1.) By now, birthing had advanced, dads were in the delivery room, and baby monitors had made the scene. The monitor revealed that baby was in some distress, and of course I panicked. The doctor, however, did not, and after a couple of hours of careful monitoring, we moved to the delivery room. Shortly after midnight, Nick was born–on Mother’s Day. I insisted that since he was the first baby born in that hospital on Mother’s Day that we should be receiving a prize package similar to the ones people received for the New Year’s Baby. (I do find it ironic that Nick married a woman who was the first baby born on New Year’s Day in her hospital!) The doctor scoffed at my greediness, but she did tell me that all the moms would have a surprise on Mother’s Day. We did receive a rose on our lunch trays, and steak and wine for dinner! Although he had inhaled some meconium, all turned out well, and we were able to come home to his sisters and brother in just a few days. Happy Birthday, Nick!

Next–Back to the Future in Texas

Mother’s Day, Continued. The Ice Storm

On the pregnancy front, things were chugging along just swimmingly. My friend Pat called in early December from the hospital after giving birth to Michelle. I was insanely jealous of her. Her baby was HERE! Move forward past Christmas, into January. I’m working away on my Smith-Corona (yikes! Pre-Computer! How old AM I?) on my master’s thesis, on Milton’s Paradise Regained. Nothing is happening in January except the fact that our black lab, Zeke, is getting tired of my sighs and exhortations to the God of Milton to hurry things along. Finally, it’s the end of January. Like a mother bird sitting on her hatchling (except this one was inside), I started to rumble and things started to happen. It was early evening, so Gene and I fed the dog, packed up our troubles in our old kit bag, grabbed our focal point picture, and headed to the hospital. A fairly decent snowstorm was also hatching, but we were undaunted. We got to the hospital, got examined, and suddenly, everything stopped dead in its tracks, except the snowstorm. The nurse said I was close to getting contractions started again, but she encouraged Gene to go back home, get some sleep, and come back in a few hours. (Apparently, the nurse hadn’t looked out the window.) My dutiful husband got back in the car, drove the several miles home. As soon as he walked in the door, the nurse called him. Come back, she said. Your wife’s in labor. Still dutiful, he scraped off the windows and drove back. By now, I was involved in a heated game of poker with my roommate and two friendly orderlies. Every so often, one of us would wince, but realistically, we were fairly comfortable. We got the guys involved in the poker game, and soon, the  roommate left to labor in a more suitable location–an actual labor ward, filled with 8 screaming women. I could hear them through the door. What was up with the whole puff-blow-push documentation? Why wasn’t it working for these women? I dreaded my imminent entry through that door. Shortly after my roommate left (she had won a few bucks), my water broke, and the poker game was halted. We started our Lamaze techniques, hoping to forestall moving into the ward as long as possible. To this day, I can’t believe there actually was a ward, even in the early 70s! I was soon close to screaming mode myself, but I was determined not to take any drugs of any kind. We moved into the ward, and we followed our directions. I wanted to spit at the focal point picture after a few hours, but Gene wouldn’t let me. The nurse said I was doing fine, but I was getting ready to push. We asked where the doctor was. She said brightly: “Oh, he’s on his way. Don’t you know there’s a snow storm going on?” In a few minutes, the nurse said that although I was ready to push, I shouldn’t because the doctor wasn’t there. Finally, I couldn’t manage it any longer, and we hustled into the delivery room. Doctor X swooped in like the dignitary he was. I’m sure he was wearing a white cape of some sort, but all I could see were his white buck shoes. That part is not a lie. Dr. X got there just in time to catch our daughter and hand her to Gene. By now, I was delirious, and I heard some interns coming in to watch. One of them asked: “Who’s this other guy?” The nurse said: “This is a man who just watched his wife give birth to his daughter. He gets to give her her first bath.” And so, we entered the age of Acqaurius with one beautiful creature to our name.