On April 20, 1971, I labored for about 6 hours at the Reese AFB hospital, located just outside Lubbock, Texas. There were two of us in labor that night, and only one OB available. The two on-duty nurses, who covered labor and delivery, post partum and the nursery, were busy with the OB caring for the other laboring mom. Her baby was in a transverse position and the OB was trying to rotate it so she could avoid having a c-section.
I labored on, with Larry at my side, but without any medical oversight for some time. Eventually, I decided the baby was about to be born and asked Larry to get some help. He had to poke his head into the delivery room and yell for help. One of the nurses broke away and came to examine me. The next words out of her mouth were "pant, don't push...pant, don't push." Had this woman ever had a baby herself? When you need to push, you need to push.
She scurried around, trying to find the stirrups that would convert the labor bed into a make-do delivery table. No luck. She phoned the on-call flight surgeon to come in. This was a doc who took care of the pilots, who probably had not delivered a baby since medical school. There I was, with my legs pulled up on the bed, no stirrups, and an inexperienced delivery man at the foot of the bed waiting to catch my first baby. I just pushed and then pushed again.
Out came a beautiful baby girl, weighing 7 pounds, 14 ounces. Larry had been banished from the "delivery room" by this time (remember, this was 42 years ago) and had taken my glasses with him. So my first glimpse of my baby was blurry, to say the least. But I knew she was beautiful, and when I had my glasses on and could see her in focus, I saw I was right. Margaret Hubbard Schenck was a little blond cherub, and still looked like one four years later:
On April 22, 1977, I was at home having what I thought were Braxton Hicks contractions. I'd had them throughout the pregnancy and while they were slightly uncomfortable, they never amounted to anything. And this baby was not due for another two weeks. Marnie had been born on her due date and Peter, who arrived on August 6, 1974, was one day early. No way was this real labor.
But the contractions continued, so I said to Larry that I thought we should go up to the hospital to get checked out. When I spoke with the OB on the phone, he said they would examine me and call him to come in, if necessary. OK with me. I packed up a small bag and made sure I included my needlepoint. If this wasn't real labor, I didn't want to be bored. We called my aunt and uncle to come over and stay with the kids, and off we went to Rochester General Hospital, about a 20 minute car ride away.
The contractions started getting stronger while we were driving, but nothing I couldn't handle. All the more reason to get checked out. Larry pulled up to the emergency entrance, they put me in a wheel chair and took me upstairs to the labor floor. I asked if they would just check me before they went through all the admitting stuff so that we could know whether this was the real deal or not. The nurse evaluated my contractions and said they were "mildly moderate." Larry was still downstairs parking the car and giving them the admitting info.
In walked Dr. Park, a resident who was not fully versed in the English language. He examined me as I went through transition and screamed out with a thick accent, "We gonna have a baby, we gonna have a baby!!!" They then rolled the gurney down to the delivery room at about 65 mph. I never made it over to the delivery table, my water broke explosively and out came Katherine Taylor Schenck, all 7 pounds, 14 ounces of her. I had been in the hospital for 10 minutes. Katie was deemed perfect, Larry was still downstairs checking me in and my OB was sitting at home in his Irondequoit living room waiting to see if he was needed at the hospital. Dr. Park was practically attached to the ceiling of the delivery room, he was flying so high. Larry said he would have run a few red lights if he had known Katie was in such a hurry to join the party. Here is cutie pie Katie several months later:
Three babies in 6 years, with the girls being born almost on the same day in April. That one day in between has become my "day of rest", and each year I think back to their arrivals. Both of them popped out at exactly the same weight and under less than ideal delivery conditions. But both of them were happy, healthy babies, and now they have babies of their own. I hope when their babies are older, they will tell them the story of Nana's Day of Rest.
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