Twenty years ago yesterday, my first child was born.
I recently asked my mother about the day I was born and got very little from her other than the date and the hospital — information, you might be surprised to know, I already knew! Perhaps my birth wasn't particularly memorable. Perhaps the third pregnancy was little more than like having a wart removed... I don't know.
My memories of Zachary's birth day begin about nine months earlier. Certainly we couldn't be sure, but Penny and I will always believe that Zach was conceived in a cheap motel in the Chicago area, where we had traveled for my cousin Peggy's wedding — the Brer Rabbit Motel. As my friend Caro might say, Appropriate that.
Flash forward to February 15, 1985... Penny and I went to her monthly doctor visit and her doctor was on a call at the hospital, so Penny was checked out by the nurse. Penny was feeling a bit of discomfort that day and the nurse suggested that we check her into the hospital, that she'd begun to dilate.
Sparrow hospital was practically across the street from the doctor's office, so we headed there and checked in. After what I recall was a fairly long wait, Penny was checked by a staff nurse and we were told that she had barely begun to dilate, that we should go home and come back at a later time. So, off we went.
Later that evening, at 9:00 or 10:00, I believe, Penny began feeling more uncomfortable and again we headed for the hospital. Again, we were told that it wasn't quite time yet, that we could check in to the hospital if we wanted to, but that the baby wasn't going to be born until the next day sometime.
Before we left, the nurse told us that she'd be on duty until 7:00 the next morning, and that we should call her prior to her getting off shift. She told us that she (as well as other prenatal nurses) were trained to recognize the breathing patterns pregnant women make, and that she would be able to tell how far along in labor Penny was based on what she could hear over the phone.
Penny had a rather fitful night's sleep (as did I, then, of course) and at about 5:00 we got up and Penny took a warm shower — also at the behest of the nurse. Just before 7:00, I called the nurse and got Penny on the phone, who described what she was feeling. The nurse told her that we should plan on coming in to the hospital at about 11:00am.
That sounded fine with me. Penny wasn't so thrilled. She was in pain and she wanted it to be over with. Assuming that the nurse knew what she was talking about, I made coffee and puttered around waiting for 11:00 to roll around. Frankly, I was rather nonchalant about the whole process, but I was relying on my instincts. I moved purposefully slowly that morning. I thought it was silly to rush to the hospital again only to have to be told nothing was happening. Penny was uncomfortable but she wasn't in agony.
She was, however, getting upset—rightly so—that I wasn't overly concerned about her condition. What can I say? I seriously felt that the time hadn't come yet and tried to be calm about it all.
I really can't recall why, but Penny had asked our friend Linda to accompany us in the birthing room at the hospital. Perhaps she didn't think I would come through as her breathing coach... I don't know. She called Linda over to the house at about 9:00, probably figuring that she'd have to rely on Linda to get her to the hospital.
Fuh!
At about 10:30, Penny was getting extremely antsy about getting to the hospital. I decided to pour a last cup of coffee, and told her that we'd leave once I finished the coffee. I nursed the coffee, again with 11:00 as my target time for hitting the road. I think I finally gave in at about 10:50 and off we went to Sparrow Hospital.
Penny was checked in and it was determined by nurses that she still hadn't dilated more than a centimeter or two, so we whiled away the time. I made several phone calls to relatives to let them know things had begun to happen and to expect news soon. Penny's family all lived within twenty miles of the hospital, and most of them would make their ways to the hospital before long.
All the while, of course, Penny was experiencing increasing discomfort. Our original plan was for her to go drug-free for the birthing, but at about 12:40, she decided that she wanted the demerol.
At about 1:10, I was on the phone with Penny's sister Clarice, when Linda found me and told me that things were happening. I returned to the birthing suite where I was handed my scrubs and I washed my hands. I was told that within about twenty minutes of being given the demerol, her dilation shot up to ten centimeters. My memory is that at about this time, the doctor made her first appearance in the room. (Apparently, she had a couple other deliveries that day as well.)
The hard labor went fast. The really serious labor began at 1:11 and by 1:26, Zach was born. Throughout the process, Penny had me in a death grip as I helped her breathe through it all. As Zachary squirted into existence, my eyes watered at the wonder of it all. It truly is one of the most amazing things to witness the beginning of a life.
Zach was 9 lbs, 8.5 oz. He looked a lot like my dad when I first saw his face. As he has grown up, his looks have changed... for a long time I thought he was the spitting image of me as a kid, but his face has elongated, he has the jawline (and teeth structure) of his mother, as well as her eyes (though they differ in color—his blue versus her brown)—he has beautiful eyes!
He has always been a talented artist, having inherited his mother's ability to see what he tries to draw. He loves baseball in general and the Detroit Tigers in particular. As baseball memories go, one of my earliest and fondest occurred during the 1986 World Series. Zach was a over a year-and-a-half old and I was watching the Series on television in the apartment Penny and I originally lived in after moving to Lansing from Toledo. At one point during the game, Zach ran a couple of circles in the living room in front of the TV then SLID! It was the funniest thing to see.
My relationship with Zachary has been going through a number of transitions since his mother and I divorced... he's still trying to find his way in this ever more complicated world and I'm trying to find my way with him, trying to be there for him while he goes through his current difficulties with money and roommates; trying to bite my tongue about his wretched smoking habit and his fondness for drinking beer; continually urging him to rely on himself to find his way out of his confusing times.
Last night, we had dinner at Lou & Harry's in East Lansing and he went through the laundry list of problems he and his roommate have been having and I sat with tongue firmly between my teeth as he told me all the details, all the ideas for digging out of his financial troubles. Two months ago, he had a job he liked, was being paid well and decided to move into his own place. The problem is that the job was seasonal – it was scheduled to end in early January. He had expected to get work with connections he'd made while working at Meridian Mall, but they haven't panned out.
His roommate is also unemployed and has been nothing but irresponsible for the last two years (as best as I can tell). They're both great kids who can't seem to right their listing ships and all I can really do at this point is watch and hope and perhaps make a few phone calls.
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