It was February 13th. I was 8 ½ months pregnant and returning to work after my weekly gynecologist appointment.
My doctor said he
thought I may come a little earlier than my
February 28th due date. That was okay with me. I had had
enough of the whole pregnancy thing- the tremendous weight gain, the sharp pain
in my abdomen they called “heartburn,” the inability to sit, stand or sleep
comfortably. I really did Ache All Over. I was more than ready to meet my
baby.
Snow was beginning to
fall as I headed back to work, but I wasn’t worried. The roads weren’t
bad yet, and my workplace was just four miles from my house. Nonetheless,
I was pretty happy when I arrived at work safely, just in time for lunch.
When I stood up after lunch, I felt an unfamiliar sensation. I realized
with a shock that my water was beginning to break. I calmly called the
doctor’s office, and they advised me to return to the hospital
immediately. I was not able to reach my husband, who was making
deliveries for his family’s business in a time before cell phones. I left
the message with his mother that I would go home and pack my bag and he could
just meet me at the house.
I let my boss and my
friend and co-worker Joan know what was going on and left. I got in the
car, turned the key and…the car wouldn’t start. I had turned the
headlights on when I was on my way back to work in the snowstorm and left them
on. My car battery was dead.
Okay, so now I was
beginning to panic.
I found Paul, my
co-worker with jumper cables. Paul felt strongly that a woman in labor
should not be driving herself anywhere, especially in the snow. He
refused to jump my car. I explained that I just planned to drive the few
miles to my house, and probably wasn’t even technically in labor. Paul
didn’t care. He offered to drive me anywhere I needed to go. I
explained to him that this was my only car, and I could not leave it there,
dead, especially if I actually gave birth to the baby. Paul was
adamant. We argued for several minutes. I was getting
desperate. I begged. I cajoled. I cannot swear that I didn’t
at one point grab Paul by the lapels and yell “Jump the damn car,
Paul!” Finally, Joan, a very persuasive person, intervened and Paul
grudgingly agreed to jump my car.
I drove home and
packed my suitcase but hadn’t heard from my husband. I called the
doctor’s office. “WHAT??!!!,” the nurse said, “You mean you haven’t
even LEFT yet?” The last professional I saw get this excited was the
whitewater rafting guide after I fell into the Youghigheny River. I
thought better than to mention the dead car battery. She asked how long
it would take me to get to the hospital. About 30 minutes when it
wasn’t snowing, I told her. “Oh honey,” she said, “You need to get here RIGHT
NOW!”
I called my
mother-in-law to tell her that I was leaving for the hospital and to tell my
husband to meet me there. She offered to come pick me up, but after my
conversation with the nurse I didn’t think I should wait.
My mother also offered
to drive me, which was very sweet but not really feasible. My mother was
terrified of driving in the snow, and lived in Swissvale, which was just about
an hour away from my home in Washington, PA. It would have taken Mom 2 hours
or more to pick me up and take me to the hospital in the snow, and I was
certain that Mom would not want to drive in the snow and deliver
her grandchild herself, at least not on the same day.
It was snowing a lot
harder now. When I finally arrived at the hospital, I told the doctor
that aside from my water breaking and driving 30 miles in a heavy snowstorm, I
was feeling fine. He examined me and informed me that I was indeed having
contractions and I was “officially” in labor. Perhaps I was in shock as I
drove to the hospital in the snow, and therefore numb to the contractions, or
perhaps I had unknowingly been employing those breathing exercises they taught
us in Lamaze class.
Meanwhile my husband
had arrived back at the shop. He arrived in the birthing room about an
hour after I got there, in plenty of time for the birth.
I will not share all
the minute details of the labor and delivery, because I hate when women do
that. However, I will tell you that I had to have a Caesarian section
because the baby was large, and my birth canal was small. I only mention
this because I want everyone to know that there is actually a body part of mine
that is too small, ironically located inside my body where nobody can see it.
At 10:15 p.m. on
February 13, 1985, my beautiful, brown-haired, brown-eyed baby boy was born, 8
pounds and 9 ounces despite coming 15 days early. When they put him into
my arms, I was smitten- crazy about the kid from the start. Every bit of
the pregnancy and that day had been worth it.
That baby turns 38
today. He is now the father of two happy, active, beautiful,
brown-haired, brown-eyed sons of his own. Wishing him a great
birthday, and better weather than the day he was born
