1959

1959, the evening of October 1st, somewhere around 10:00 PM. The young mother to be was sure that after nearly a month of false starts that the consistent, savage pain had to be the beginning of labor. She bit her lip to the point of drawing blood as another wave of pain crashed over her.

She knew the pain would be beyond description but this pain was almost beyond reason. Advice concerning both carrying and delivering a baby had come at her like raindrops in a summer squall. Even customer customers at the diner felt compelled beyond acceptable social norms to reach out and pat the belly tossing advice like tips her way.

“Your carrying high it will be a boy.”

“Your carrying high it will be a girl.”

“Your so big you must be carrying twins.”

“You shouldn’t be working deary, bed rest is the key to a healthy, happy baby.”

“Good for you sweetie, work is the best thing for expectant moms.”

Of course the most difficult of the unsolicited advice always came from dear sweet mom.

“Twenty is much to young to be a mother. You are still a baby yourself.”

“You and Wayne have been married near two years and you have had a miscarriage and now you’re close to being a mom. What’s the hurry? Why in my day…”

“You should have gone to college, met a nice professional man. Traveled had babies later. But no you never listen to me.”

She was startled back to the present by the horn of the Cadillac as Wayne pulled up to take her to the hospital. He said he had been working late; working on another hangover was closer to the truth. She could smell the beer on his breath, a smell he had tried to cover with the smell of several stick of gum. The mixture of scents brought her to the brink of nausea. Throwing up in the front seat was only prevented by another wave of pain, which nearly doubled her over.

The maternity ward at the hospital was rather quiet. Which in and of itself was not surprising since the grand opening of this wing had been two days ago. She had never expected to give birth here. Her due date had been the first week of September and arrangements had been made for her to deliver at the new hospital in the next town over. Despite the worry she was secretly glad she was late, she new the staff at this hospital and felt much more at home.

With I’s dotted and t’s crossed, Wayne ensconced in the waiting room the duty nurse escorted her to the labor room. She helped her to clumsily change out of the tent that was laughingly called a maternity dress, kept her from falling when the next wave hit and made her as comfortable as possible when she climbed into bed.

The pain was coming fast and furious and the young mother was sure that within hours she would be the proud new mother of a beautiful baby. Those hopes were dashed when the doctor informed her after an examination that she was barely two centimeters dilated and there was a ways to go before the actual birthing process began.

Hours passed with a slowness that only comes with a combination of anticipation and fear. Each visit from the doctor brought the anticipation of childbirth only to have her hopes dashed by the iceberg like slowness of her body’s response to task at hand.

October 2nd five o’clock in the afternoon and the faint glow of a light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel appeared on her horizon. Exhaustion wrapped her body in a cocoon of sweat combined with random tremors wracking muscles that before today she would have sworn were not part of her physiology.

Hope swelled within as she imagined in mere moments nuzzling the neck of her child.

The delivery room was cold, white and sterile. Dominated by a device that only the Marquis de Sade could have imagined. The nurse explained to her that it was a bed designed to assist in the delivery process. In her mind all she saw was a massive device of inhuman torture.

Several nurses assisted has she was moved from her bed to this remnant of the Spanish Inquisition. They took her legs, strapping them onto metal like arms, which left her spread-eagled for the world to see.

At this point she was beyond caring. Labor pains were mere minutes apart. Sweat was pouring from every pore. Her hair was stuck to her head in clumps and her face was white from the strain of contractions.

Finally the doctor made his grand appearance. Robed, masked and gloved a conductor prepared to lead the symphony. He directed the various nurses to their stations pulled up a stool and proceeded to perform a thorough examination. With new vigor he announced that the magic number of ten centimeters had been reached and that I was now allowed to push with controlled abandon.

One nurse held my hand with each painful push as another angel wiped my clammy feverish forehead with a cold cloth. One push followed another like clockwork. Hours seemed to pass in minutes yet no progress was made. The doctor could be heard cursing under his breath. Mumbling something about the baby’s head.

Ten o’clock and the new mother was close to exhaustion. Contractions on top of contraction had brought her to a new chasm from which she was not sure she could return.
She may have passed out for a moment, when she came to she was looking in to the concerned eyes of her doctor.

“We have a serious situation on our hands. Your child’s head seams to have become stuck in the canal. You have begun to bleed which is not a good sign. We are doing our best to keep the two you with us but it is touch and go. If we do not get this baby out soon he could suffocate and/or you could bleed to death. You need to stay with us, focus, lets get that baby out for both of your sakes.”

They gave her a brief respite from pushing. Allowing her some ice chips and some tortured breaths between contractions. The doctor took advantage of the diversion and went to the waiting room to speak to her husband.

He found him on the sidewalk in front of the hospital nervously pacing the sidewalk with a Camel clenched between his thumb and index finger. Upon seeing the doctor his face grew pale and he ground his half smoked cigarette into the sidewalk. The doctor explained the situation with the added caveat that at some point a choice may have to be made as who to save the unborn child or his wife. In his heart he selfishly wanted to say his wife but he knew that without blinking she would of said their child so that was what he told the doctor save the child.

Returning to the delivery room the doctor soon found the delivery going from bad to worse. The baby was still in the canal. The mother was bleeding and her blood pressure was dangerously low. At this point he was not sure he could save either.

Stepping to the head of the table he gripped her hand for one final pep talk. “I know you are beyond exhaustion and that you just want to sleep. Most would have given up by now. Your will to live is strong and I refuse to lose either of you. So what I want you to do is dig deep and find some reserve of energy buried deep within. Use that energy to give me one last series of strong pushes. It will hurt like hell but we will save you and your baby”

Weakly she squeezed his hand in agreement and geared herself for one last try.

With hands and medical tools at the ready he gave the nurses the signal for her to begin. She screamed with the effort and pushed with every last ounce of reserve. Flesh tore but by some miracle the doctor was finally able to see the crown of the child’s head. Another push more screaming and tearing and better than half of the head was through the canal. A final scream and prolonged push and like a cork the baby shot out into the doctors waiting arms. He handed the baby to the nurses who informed the exhausted mother that she had a baby boy.

The doctor was more concerned about the damage done to the woman’s body. In the background he could here the angry cry of the newborn as his airway was cleaned and he was wrapped in warm blankets. For his part needle and thread in hand he began the long process of sewing the torn pieces of her body back together.
In the end close to two hundred stitches were needed to repair the damage to her young body. Her boy’s head had been too big for the canal due to the lateness of the delivery. In 1959 the technology did not exist to identify these problems in vitro. By the grace of God and the skill of the hospital staff both mother and son survived.

And by the way the mother in question was my very own who I love honor and cherish to this day. Before you ask yes the bigheaded baby was me.

On this my 46th birthday I wanted to take a moment to publicly acknowledge and thank my mom for all she went through to bring me into this world.

THANKS MOM!!!