28 September 2016
“simple as that,” "my little doll" ----
Baby, Baby … … Baby !
I gave birth 37 years ago this day. That entire deal ? Stunning.
Two other, very, very wee kiddos of mine, only 13 months old and 37 months old at the time on this date, needed to be looked after when, alone with only them beside me, I went in to labor with my and my belly’s third baby boy --- then grown by me into bulldozing – maturity.
I telephoned my daddy. His line was busy. I tried again; the line was still busy. This was 1979, around noontime: lunch time for the two with the weer one longingly and so, so sorrowfully stating up in to my eyes, “Mommy, I hungry.” At this plaintive plea of Jacob Thomas’ his two tiny hands gripping both of my kneecaps, I recall, at that time of the next pain, thinking how many women everywhere every hour registered inside their ears and up in to their brains this same mewling: the World over, “Mommy, I hungry.”
Contractions were five minutes apart; membranes intact, but I was allegedly exactly three weeks past Dr Hesse’s oft – stated ‘due’ date so this was it: the real deal. O, and my father by the back road, the one that led right in to the university housing complex’s parking lot, was over 30 miles away. At least and fortunately, the blacktop wasn’t iced over; it was September in Iowa, not February. Again, Daddy's telephone line was still busy.
I pressed the ‘ 0 ‘ on my telephone’s pad; and when an actual voice came back in to my ear, stated to it thus, “I don’t know if this is an emergency enough, ya’ know, enough of a reason to try to break in to my daddy’s line, Operator, I truly don’t. I am having labor pains every five minutes; I’m overdue, ‘nd it’s my third baby, and aaah, ah, well, my daddy needs to come to look after my other two little ones. No one else is here. He has to come, well, quite a ways actually. Um, it’s over a 30 – mile drive at least. Do ya’ think … … ? ”
“HELL YES, Woman ! Now ! I’ll do THAT right now ! What’s his phone number ? Now ! And you, you Woman, call your doctor right away. Do it now. Hang up and do it now ! I am breaking in to your father’s conversation right now. I’ll get ‘im there. Call your doctor!”
Willard Albert William Maas drove, I know he did around that blacktop’s four S – curves and the rest of its length upwards the entire stretch of mileage at over 90 miles per hour, screamed his “baby” – blue Seville to a halt into the lot’s parking space at nearly a 45 – degree, askewed angle; and we three watched Daddy on those O – so spindly tibial pins of his and with that already thrice – attacked ( at least once by that poliomyelitis virus of 1939 through 1941 ) heart – muscle actually .run. himself over to our itty – bitty apartment’s front door.
Knowing precisely two things: i) that Jacob Thomas and Zachary Adam would now not only both be heartily fed but also well looked after and ii) at where inside that building its labor and delivery suite was located, I did not wait for any wheelchair nor elevator – lift but, instead, climbed to it from the hospital's entrance the four flights of back stair steps. The crown of the head of Micah Abraham Zebulon was exiting as I listened to Dr Hesse’s wingtips clamoring down the hallway. He burst in to the delivery room, grabbed off of the equipment table a sterilized towel, turned around from it to me; and, exhaling that last Lamaze – laboring breath of mine at 2:16pm, I finished … … this particular matter.