From a Bumpy Ride
Glenna was an elderly Hawaiian woman that lived two houses down from my childhood home. She was a kind and gentle woman with a million interesting stories about old Hawaii. Glenna once shared a story about the time she was pregnant with her first child. She was beyond her due date, and she and her husband were impatient for the child to be born. Her husband had the idea of taking a drive, so the two of them drove from Kaneohe to Kahaluu. Of course, as Glenna pointed out, back in those days the roads were all made of gravel, so the ride was rather bumpy. Shortly after they had returned home from the drive, Glenna went into labor and their first son was later born.
This story was of great interest to Julie and I. Not only was Julie pregnant, but it was on the eve of her due date that Glenna shared this story. Inquisitive me pondered the possibilities. I tried to remember where we might find a gravel road, but all the nearby roads that came to mind had long since been paved.
Not wanting to give up on the idea entirely, the two of us compromised. Since we didn’t have a gravel road, I suggested that we pretend to drive on one. Julie layed down on her back upon the living room carpet. I knelt down between her legs and cupped her hips with both of my hands. With eyes closed, I imagined the two of us driving to Kahaluu, gently moving and thrusting her hips with each turn and bump in the road that we might have hit along the drive. After about ten minutes of this, we both decided that we were being kind of silly.
After our pretend play, Julie went to take a shower. She was in the bathroom for about five minutes when she called out my name. She yelled in the shower that her water had broke, and silly me had thought she had somehow broken the shower. It took several more times of her saying to me that her water broke before I caught on to what she was actually telling me.
Mom drove us to the hospital. As Julie was getting checked by the nurses, I tried to convince myself that I was ready for this. The Lamaze classes had prepared me for the months of pregnancy and for the delivery itself, but nothing prepared me for the hours of waiting in the waiting room. From time to time I would check in on Julie, just long enough to see how the dilation was coming, to offer her comfort and support, and to do something stupid like offering to bring her a magazine to read.
Eventually it was time. Julie was wheeled into the delivery room, and I stood excitedly by her side. I coached her along, and she did wonderfully well. In all the time that we had been together, she was never more beautiful. And then baby arrived. It was a boy, a handsome baby boy. The doctor allowed me to cut the cord, and soon baby was cradled in his mother’s arms. One of the nurses told us that baby had been given the highest possible APGAR score, and we were proud of his first accomplishment. It was all quite emotional. As Julie and baby Steffen rested, my permanent smile caused my face to ache. I phoned the family to share the good news. I called friends, and friends of friends. I proudly told strangers in the hospital that my son had been born.
Five years later, Julie and Steffen would move away from the islands. But that’s another story for another time. As I look back on all my memories, that one day when I witnessed the birth of my son, it was undoubtedly the most joyful day of my life. It all began to happen eighteen years ago today.
March 16th, 2005 at 5:56 am
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