It's a BOY!

 After having our first child, our family felt perfect, complete. 

And I wasn’t alone in thinking that. 

Before I left for our flight to NYC and on to Frankfurt, Germany, my Dad, in no uncertain terms, told me that if I had another baby while my husband was still in the Service, my parents would disown me. Hmmm, he was such a softie, that seemed totally out of character for him. Totally. But then I think my parents had genuine fears about them having to take care of us if things got out of hand. 

Stunned, but I had no plans to do any such thing.

My 15 year old sister, Dianne, was enlisted to accompany us on the flight to NYC. Nice! And then we were on our own over the Atlantic. Dad picked up a very tired traveller in Frankfurt and then drove us 3 hours south to Vohringen, a small town not far from the military base in Neu Ulm.

There weren’t single family houses so much then, so our apartment was one of two on the third floor of the building. Next door was a family of Turks. They were imported labor, like Mexicans in the USA. 

Second floor was the two prostitutes in one apartment, Eva and Frederika. They were nice, I liked them. Heidi, a towering German with other kids (by other men) in social care, and Cleve, her Black GI husband, and their baby had the other second floor apartment.

First floor was a teenage discotheque. Turns out every single night we got to enjoy loud popular German music, so singing lullabies was strictly a daytime affair. Pretty wild!

D.Wayne had assured me several times before I got there that we would absolutely be living like KINGS because the German mark was almost 3.5 to 1 American dollar.

And he was right, apparently long ago Kings used to live winters without heat. Because there was no heat. Yes, there was a coal fired stove, but no coal. We eventually did manage to get some coal from Frederika. I figured she wanted us to drink, because it sounded like she was asking if we wanted “Ale” instead of “Oil” but soon enough we were on the same page. Every time you would start the stove, the oil would explode and there would be black soot all over the living room wall. Cleaning walls became my new calling. One of them.

I have never had a drink. But that would have been a good time for some Ale.

Somehow that day I missed finding the special supplemental formula the Dr had put Afton on, and that I had repeatedly insisted he needed to get. But there was a cake in the room, and that was all of the supplies there were. Celebrate! I cried and cried and begged to be taken back to Frankfurt to catch a plane home.

Weary, we all fell asleep. 

Only to be awakened a few hours later by yelling and screaming. “I’m going to kill you.”  “Help, help, he’s throwing me down the stairs.” More, I couldn’t understand. But we were alarmed. My husband didn’t think it was time to intervene, but of course I did. I went down the stairway and they both were off the charts. Apparently they were arguing over their 2 month old baby, so I asked where she was and went into the apartment to grab her. 

Soon enough the local German Cops showed up as well as the Army Military Police. At least that was a good step forward. But they somehow could not figure out which of them had jurisdiction with a German citizen and an American GI. So in a Solomon like decision, they gave custody of Santa Maria to me. Uh huh. It was Saturday night, and they said to keep her until Monday, and not let either parent near her. Was the baby a hostage? Was I?

I took her upstairs, and then came back down to retrieve what I could to take care of her. But neither parent would budge and give me any formula or diapers from their separate stashes. Everything in Germany then was closed on Sundays, so no other options tomorrow.

Well that felt good, I was nursing both babies all weekend. With zero supplements. It was all I could do. And hope that neither of those wonderful parents broke in the glass door to our apartment.

Sunday was Afton’s two month birthday. It was a tad anticlimactic.

On Monday I wanted to go into base and see about getting the special formula for my baby, and no Police or MPs showed up that morning, so I went downstairs and gave Heidi back her daughter. 

But we remained on close terms with the MPs who often had to come out to deal with Heidi and Cleve. So much so that they came and spent New Year’s Eve with us 3 weeks later. 

Of course, I ended up with Santa Maria. Often. After a few months of this, one Saturday we went into base to go  to the PX, with both babies in our car. Happened to drive by the little movie theater there and notice Heidi and Cleve standing in line. Together! 

And so the free babysitting spree was over. Apparently Heidi felt guilty and tried to pay me $25, which in that day would be almost $250 now. No thanks, I was just done. We figured we’d move out when 6 months were done. Wouldn’t miss those two.

In the meantime, I would spend the days going on long walks with the baby in the stroller. We lived only a block from the famous river, the Blue Danube. On one exceptionally mild day that winter, I was excited enough to go for a walk without a coat, twelve miles to base. It started snowing. People started staring, pointing. Crazy Americans!

We had a tiny kitchen so had to go shop at the market often. But I could boil water in a pan to wash the cloth diapers (no Pampers around yet), and use the tub to do so. That was fun.

Once a week, I would get dropped off at the little laundromat on base to do the laundry. We would spend the day there until it was time he could get off to pick us up and take us home. The floor in our old beat up VW Bug was missing, so we got lots of fresh air on trips.

And within 2 months, I had lost all the baby weight! My mom had been pretty apprehensive I wouldn’t when I left for Europe. I had been up to 133… and was down to 95 the end of February. My secret? Don’t eat. If you can’t afford to. We both had college loans that had to be paid off, and there was no grace given, even if you had been drafted. So we had mac & cheese every other night, frozen peas too the first half of the month, Hamburger helper once in a while, not much else. 

Fortunately he could eat lunch on base every day, so there was that. 

One night I had learned to take the bus into the base, and it was my first time going to a RS Homemaking meeting in our little Branch. It was so good to be out on my own! Six of us women in the Branch. After it was over, I went to wait for the bus directly across from the guard post at the front of the base. I waited and waited, paced and paced. January, and it was cold. 

Finally I crossed the street back to the guard house and asked if they could please call Captain Cox, our Branch President. They were not moved, to say the least. He was the Commander of that base, and they had decided I was a lady of the night, trying to pick up clients. After all, it was Fasching all winter, and people celebrated with lots of liberties they normally wouldn't get away with. Like Mardi Gras for months, only not many parades until just before Lent. 

Anyway, they refused to call him, and I was crying by the time I got them to call someone in base housing that was in D.’s clerk group. I was sobbing when I woke this kid up I didn’t even know, but he came and got me and drove me home. Not all heroes wear capes, right?

And soon I was dead set on getting my European Driver’s license ASAP. Aced it too!

And soon I was pregnant! What? Afton was barely 3 months old. WHAT?

I had mixed feelings. But one feeling was strong. Don’t tell anyone. Especially my parents.

So I didn’t. Until six weeks before the due date when I wrote them a letter. To be sure, long distance phone calls were ridiculously expensive. So I wrote and got many letters. I don’t know how my parents took the news. But soon enough I got a package from home with my maternity clothes, so I could stop wearing my husband’s pants and shirts that last month or so. And they were nothing but supportive.

In June, we moved to a different town, Herrlingen. No disco, no call girls, no problems. Herr and Frau Ican’tremember their name, were so nice and had one teenage son, Hans Fried, who spoke English, so when he was home, we could communicate. We never knew of any other Americans in either town,the same as Vohringen.  

Our backyard was a sloped hill and we came to find out, behind us on the other side of the chain link was the former house and grounds of the iconic Desert Fox, Erwin Rommel. Hands down he was the most well known general on any side in WWII. Among so many victories in several countries, he commanded the German forces on D Day in June, 1944 as the Allies executed the invasion of Normandy. 

Clearly that would be something I can’t defend, as my own Father then came over to fight against Germany. Yet, Rommel had a reputation of not being a diabolical blood thirsty operative. In fact, later in 1944, he became a protagonist in the Valkyrie Project, wherein some leaders had faced the evil Hitler was, and they were planning to assassinate him. 

They were found out, and because Rommel was by far the most important military figure, Hitler realized killing him would cause extreme negative reactions. So he was given the option of taking a cyanide pill when they came to the house I saw every day. He told his wife and son goodbye and got in the car to go to the outskirts of town and suicide himself. He was given a full military funeral, and was buried in the Herrlingen cemetery. On my stroller walks with my little one, I went and visited his grave every day. And pondered war, and choices. No one else was ever there whenever we were. So serene.

So the rest of this pregnancy was uneventful and pretty good. Except for that one time that a visiting Dr. from Iran on exchange somehow with our military had me summoned to an examination room. What could possibly go wrong? Well just about everything.

I disrobed and got myself up on the examination table and waited for a nurse. None ever came. Only the Dr. So I’ll spare you the specifics, this was well before #me too. I can answer questions, but I know not everyone can handle details.

And I had no idea how to handle what just happened. When I got out to the front desk to schedule my next appointment, I told the receptionist that I refused to come back to see that Dr. Several times she asked me why not. “I just refuse,” I said. Embarrassed and confused, now I wish I had been more forthcoming. But back in the day, virtually no one spoke up. Even in the next generation or two, it was common for girls and women who were actual victims to be blamed.

When I got home and told my husband about this egregious experience, he laughed. Maybe he didn’t believe me. Maybe both men and women back then had no idea how to go about holding perpetrators accountable. More so if you had only a low rank. Who knows? I buried it.

We travelled a lot, to castles and cathedrals and countries. We often weekended in Switzerland. One night we spent high in an obscure campground high in the mountains, and woke to cowbell melodies in the early morning. The best morning ever!

Another time we borrowed a two man pup tent and spent the night in a busy Swiss campground. The edge of your tent ended where someone else’s ended. I was very pregnant by that time and we had a baby sleeping between us, so when I rolled over in the night and started inhaling tent fabric, in a nightmare, I thought I was being choked and started screaming bloody murder!

What a brilliant way to make new friends! So many different languages all at once. Crescendo!

Then there was the time a friend of D’s from High School came to visit with his wife. We took them to Neuschwanstein Castle, the one Disneyland copied to create Sleeping Beauty’s castle.

Such a gorgeous area. We went in to take the tour. A large group assembled in the huge first room. We were the first in and so ended up at the open entrance to the hallway. 

As the room filled, I started feeling dizzy and weak, and ended up passing out. D. had Afton in a carrier on his back so although he caught me, he couldn’t release me to the floor without bending over and putting the baby in jeopardy. Kent and Sharon laid me down. 

Then the tour guide at the opposite end of the room began urging everyone to move through the room to continue. She became exasperated at people not moving, as no one wanted to step over my prone body (which she couldn’t see) blocking the doorway.

Somehow eventually I was carried out to a portico and laid on a bench. Tourists from all over came to console me and share ideas about getting better. At least, I assume. I only speak two languages. So no, I never really got to see Neuschwanstein. But I found out ways to get attention!

All and all, a fairy tale pregnancy.

Soon enough October came. And travelling was sidelined. At some point we realized we needed to make plans for someone to watch Afton when the time came. So we asked Hans Fried to ask his parents if they could babysit. Babysit? They had never heard of such a  concept. Grandparents and Aunts and Uncles lived close to each other back then, if not in the same house. Grandparents were often the ones who raised the children while the parents worked. But fortunately they were willing. 

So nine months pregnant is full of ups and downs for anyone. One of my personal downs this time was just before Adam was born. For some reason I was downtown Ulm by myself when I tripped and fell on the curb of a sidewalk. With my generous belly, I just couldn’t get centered enough to rise on my own, and so there I was, moving around but helpless. A fish out of water.

It was crowded. People stared and shook their heads as they walked by. No one stopped to help. Not one. And it was scary. It seemed like it took forever, in slo mo for me to somehow maneuver my way to standing up. I was so embarrassed. For me. For the Germans there. 

But hard lessons can be valuable. And I have been in situations later in life where I literally have lifted the fallen. So thank you for that opportunity. And thank you that my baby was safe.

Then the inevitable. Labor began, we gave Afton to the Landlords, time to go. And race we did, there was the train coming down the track in town, and Dad drove up on the sidewalk to avoid being stopped by the crossing gate which was coming down to halt traffic. We sped to the little clinic in Neu Ulm, and the Dr. was incredulous that I opted to drive with Dad in the beat up VW, rather than be shepherded in the military ambulance, but I didn't want to give birth without him again, so we got on the Autobahn and sped to Augsburg.

It was evening, and the Chief of OB was at a Halloween party. He didn't take kindly to being interrupted, but he showed up sans costume, except his Dr. one. The nurse, however, was from central casting. Old, grizzled, and in combat boots in the delivery room! Perfect.

The Dr. was further annoyed when I crawled off the table as he began to examine me. "Never mind," he said as he called for anesthesia. "NO!" I pleaded. "I want to have this baby totally naturally."

The Dr. was disgusted with me. "Look," he said, "you're no officer's wife, I don't have to stay here with you. I can just leave." He stood up and started for the door.

"It's important to me," I said. We were not off to a good start. He left me with Colonel Combat Boots, and I was wheeled into L & D (Labor & Delivery Room), inhumanely strapped into stirrups, and again, we were off to the races. Guess he had a change of heart, cause he stayed in his Dr. costume and played the part like it was scripted.

I so wanted to prove I could do this and not deserve any further ire, that we spent the 20 minutes or so until the baby was born telling jokes, and the 5 of us (Dr, Nurses, Dad & Mom) were pretty much hysterically laughing at the time of birth. Because the Dr. for whatever reason wanted to speed things up a bit (was he hoping to get back to the party?), he used forceps to pull on the little head. Not a friendly gesture for any of us. When the baby's shoulders emerged, I did become acutely aware of the process, but just winked at the Dr. and asked, "Do you mind if I say 'Ouch' right about now?" Permission granted, but it felt a little anticlimactic, a bit silly to say it out loud, so it was more of a loud whisper-"ouch".

And then the telling moment. "IT’S A BOY!!"

I was so surprised, I blurted out, "What do I do now??" (I grew up as one of 4 girls, this was a foreign life form to me.)

 "Change him faster," said the Doc.

Then I saw the perfect little round face, the huge eyes, the crown of dark hair. And I melted. How could life ever be better than this moment?

Beaming. Dad had a real life son now. Perfect!

I became the Dr.'s star patient; he came in the Recovery room and spent nearly half an hour massaging my leg, which wouldn't stop shaking after it was all said and done. Adrenaline, I guess. We became best friends and he would tell our story to the others he brought by on rounds the next couple of days, and brag how it was his funnest birth ever. (The Hospital Pediatrician assured me the scar the forceps had left on his face would be a lifetime mark, but there was nothing that could be done. It disappeared in less than 6 months.)

Daddy left. The night was young. There was relentless screaming all night long. I was told there was a teenage girl having her first. Old Combat Boots was so annoyed, had little sympathy.

The next day, out in the hallway, I encountered a young couple from our base, maybe D.Wayne worked with him? With a smug grin on her face, the wife told me they had heard me screaming all night.

“That’s funny,” I said. We got here early in the evening and our baby was born half an hour later. “Didn’t you hear us laughing?”

Can you forgive me for enjoying the look of shock on her face?

The next day D. went and sent telegrams to our parents. Long distance phone calls were beyond expensive.

Life was good! Our family felt truly perfect! Complete!

 

Within a couple weeks, D. had been promoted to E5 and finally we were given on base housing. The third floor of the building. It had been the (German) maid’s quarters during WWII. 8 bedrooms, a large living room and kitchen! Even with only a few months left to go till his 2 years was up, he could rest easy knowing in case something happened, that the babies and I wouldn’t be stuck out on the economy with no one to help us evacuate. The Cold War was very real. Fear was its power.

And Adam grew up to be handsome, inside and out.

EPILOGUE  (Nothing to do with pregnancy, just a “fun” sidenote)

Leaving Germany was more than I expected. Dad told me he couldn’t come on the same plane with us and so had us on a flight two weeks before his was scheduled. Of course, he somehow forgot to mention to me that he had planned a skiing trip with the guys to Austria for that interlude. No wonder he couldn’t be on board.

But I guess that worked out. Only women and children on that flight. Well, actually women and babies. Everyone had ONE. Except for me.TWO!! And then this one woman who had NONE. Took her no time to come up to me and volunteer to help me with you both. What a sweet gesture! 

The only catch was that meant she took our extra seat.I had known I would have to manage with baby Adam on my lap for how many endless hours, but I'd planned on Afton sitting next to me. And paid for that. But this Good Samaritan had a better plan. So there went our seat.

Before the engines started, unfortunately, this paragon of charity began vomiting. And vomiting. And vomiting. What an ugly word. So I got to spend the entire flight (no, I am NOT exaggerating!) attending to basically 3 babies, rather than 2. 

The stewardesses (no flight attendants back then) were out of their minds with all the crying babies, they had run out of milk early on, and paid a dear price acoustically; so no help for the hapless hurling angel wannabe. I alone was managing barf bag after barf bag. Not a happy camper, to say the least, but I guess it did keep me from focusing on who to save first if the plane went down. And from sleeping.

When we eventually miraculously arrived at Kennedy International Airport in New York, I was more than grateful the nightmare was over. 

Ha, what did I know? 

Right after getting through customs, one of our suitcases broke, and everything inside spilled all over the floor (no wheeled luggage in those days, so I was carrying Adam and two suitcases, while Afton walked at my side, less than a year and a half old.)  Not much sympathy in New York, so just me on the floor with two babes, trying to stuff our possessions back into the disintegrating luggage and find a way to tie it shut while not being trampled in the meantime. No one stopped to help. Not one.

Got on a shuttle to the Stateside terminal, irritating all the disgruntled and ungentlemanly businessmen who just sat and frowned while I loaded everyone and everything in. No one stopped to help. Not one.

But we made it, in spite of myself, and in spite of everyone else, and soon were at the Stateside Terminal. 

We somehow managed to get to the Gate, and waited to board our flight to Chicago. Well, I waited. Afton wandered off. I have no idea how many minutes it took me to notice she was gone. Being a calm and composed adult, I TOTALLY FREAKED OUT! Started running around, calling her name. People started to pay attention, and search. Ran this way and that in the long hall and finally, finally after who knows how many agonizing minutes, I found the little runaway, just sashaying along, oblivious to all the commotion.

I don't know when I have ever been more exhausted, more drained emotionally and physically when we boarded the plane to O'Hare Airport in Chicago. The last leg of our trip. I could do this. A few hours later my babies would be in Grandma and Grandpa's arms. Sweet. Almost home!

A few hours later we landed, and I was so relieved as we were taxiing to our gate to disembark.

"Welcome to Minneapolis," the voice of the stewardess announced.

Are you kidding? You HAVE to be kidding me!!

So they obligingly put us on a flight to Chicago. 

After all 682 hours of travel, I remember Grandma Mudgie saying how she'll never forget seeing baby Adam's eyes, how they were dilated and staring, like someone who had suffered an irreversible trauma. I think I was catatonic. Still am. 

And then life got better. And worse. And better. And worse. And….

It's a GIRL!

There's a first time for everything, or so they say. And being pregnant the first time seems to prove the rule.

So we married in June, 1968 and spent our honeymoon moving to Seattle. Two months later when my husband got drafted, we packed back up and headed out to Idaho, his home state, where his notice came from. His mother and I drove him to the train station in a small town miles and miles away, and then cried in the car all the way back to Geneva. 

I was going to catch a plane back to Illinois the next day to stay with my family until we got word where he would be stationed, then we could make plans. But before that could happen, he showed up, having been rejected by the Army. How ironic that his back injuries from a motorcycle accident earlier that year turned out to be quite the blessing! So we packed the car back up and headed northwest again to find a new apartment in Seattle. 

From then on, every month he would be drafted again, rejected again. Only by this time his papers had been transferred to Washington, so we at least didn't have to keep navigating the highway. And his work held fake going away parties for him every month to celebrate, unlike the first actual party when we all thought he'd be shipping out. 

Rinse and repeat, the months went by. Such a joke! They laughed, he laughed, I laughed. 

So somehow we thought it would be an opportunity to start a family. What were we thinking? And six or seven months after the wedding, we did. 

Fortunately, I didn't have a problem with morning sickness. Life seemed good, normal. 

However, reality check... the smell of the dry roasted peanuts he would buy was all of a sudden the most egregious of odors in the entire universe, and I would bolt out of the room if and when he opened the jar.  

And there was that night I fainted, and then feared a possible ectopic pregnancy, but it was just a scare. Life has bumps.

Of course, it worked out that almost as soon as we found out we were going to be parents and actually have to grow up, yes, you can imagine. He left one March morning to report again as usual for the draft. We knew the drill. 

But he didn't come home that night. 

I locked myself in the bathroom for two days and nights and cried and screamed relentlessly. Stopped laughing. 

And I never heard a word from him for two long, unbearable weeks. Timing is everything, no? At long last I got the phone call and found out he was at Ft. Lewis in Tacoma, WA. And I would be able to visit him on Sunday afternoons for the next six weeks of basic training. 

I didn't even recognize him the first Sunday. Seriously! His hair had been shaved off and he wore dark rimmed glasses instead of contact lenses. Walked right by him.

It seemed more prison like. You had to sit at a table across from your husband in a big room with everyone else doing the same. But you had an hour to talk, so what could be better?

I quit my job and packed everything into our little car and moved myself down to a bad area by the railroad tracks in Tacoma. With $75 to my name, a room behind a dilapidated old one story building used as an insurance office had to do. And it did. Tacoma was the beacon for serial killers back in the day. The infamous ones. At least it was pretty quiet. Except for the trains.

A lot went wrong there, so I couldn't really focus on being pregnant. Immediately got a job at Penney's in a Mall there, but after a month got fired when one of my coworkers told the manager I was pregnant. Against the rules back in the dark ages. 

It's ironic to be broke and unemployable when you're most needful, but good life lessons. If only in hindsight. Our cat, who was the only creature I knew within 1200 miles, and meant the world to me, went out one night and tragically was hit by a car on the highway. I picked up his body the next morning. Devastated.

Military wife, of a Private, E1... consequently not really anything the Army was obligated to deal with. The saying was, "If you were supposed to have a wife, the Army would have issued you one." Besides, most of the guys he was stationed with were 18 or 19 year old kids, he was 25, having had college and mission deferments. They all called him "Grandpa."

When he was assigned six weeks later to Ft. Ord by Monterrey, CA, I again packed up our little car with all we had, and moved myself down there. Actually we had so much that I had to drive with my left hip up on the driver's door armrest. Pure class.

Two days down the coast, and I made it to Seaside, CA on June 3, our first anniversary! Immediately found an apartment and went out to find my missing husband. No idea how I arranged that without cellphones, but I did manage to pick him up and kidnap him for a couple hours to celebrate. By then I was almost 6 months pregnant and finally beginning to show a little. 

Having been to an OB/GYN probably in March to confirm pregnancy, I never had the opportunity to go again for quite awhile. It was fortunate I did so well on my own. Or maybe just didn't know better. 

Somehow I became convinced I was the only person on the planet to ever experience being pregnant. Confident no one else had ever been in this circumstance. Despite looking around and seeing people all over the place who literally had to have been born. Wait, were they aliens? Twilight Zone or not, it was exhilarating to be the first and only pregnant mama.

In August, he was transferred to Ft. Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, IN. This time I didn't have to move alone, he had a whole week off. Just before we left, I went to the small animal compound on base and adopted the runt of the litter, a small pup the size of a hamster who barely had any chance of survival. And "Oink" became the focus of our trip to another very temporary home in the Midwest. Good practice for infant care?

So I was dropped off in Illinois at my parents' home mid August and he went on to Indiana, coming to see us on the weekends. Or I would drive out there. For fun, I became hopelessly addicted to banana popsicles. It could have been worse, no?

Finally, I was able to get in with a civilian OB group six or seven weeks before my due date, the Army having to pay because I lived too far from an actual base to have to travel to Army Docs. 

And by the end of September, I was pleading with the Dr. to have my baby induced. 

Because instead of getting orders to the East Coast, as I had dreamed of, D.Wayne had just been given orders to Germany. He grinned like he had won the lottery. I wept. 

Naturally he was being shipped out on Oct. 10, my due date. Just no way to know at that time where precisely in Germany he would be stationed, so how to even let him know about the birth? I was not happy.

The Drs. had little sympathy, saying they had been notified about their own babies being born when they were overseas during the Korean War. But soon enough they acquiesced, and I was scheduled for induction at Sherman Hospital in Elgin on the morning of Oct. 8th. 

It all went perfectly. (Only enough Pitocin to get things started and then a local injection for the episiotomy. Zero for pain.) 

Agony? Sure, but just when I became panic stricken and thought I was going to die because I could handle no more, the nurse directed me to look in her eyes, and unequivocally reassured me I could handle it. 

Me? Comforted by the voice of experience and her absolute confidence, I managed to ask her how many children she had. None, she said. 

I knew I was going to die right then. 

But surprise! After four hours of intense labor, ta da... "IT'S A GIRL!" 

And I was handed the most beautiful baby you could ever imagine. A thick mop of black hair, blue eyes, long dark lashes, delicate pink lips, porcelain skin, dainty fingers and toes... 6 1/2 pounds of exquisite perfection!

(So sad that Dads couldn't be in the delivery room at that time.) I was so overwhelmed with joy, I couldn't speak. Heaven was close, so close. Silently I was wondering when the Tabernacle Choir was coming into that sacred room to sing. Where were they?

When the proud new Daddy went down the elevator to the Lobby to tell my Mom we just had a baby girl, she said his smile was beaming like nothing she'd ever seen before, it lit up the entire hospital. 

My world changed the instant I held her. In a flash, unconditional love pulsed through every cell in my body, something beyond imagination until that very moment.

In an instant the world had dramatically changed and became not just more breathtaking, but fiercely threatening as well. Instinctively, a Mother Bear was born at that very moment. 

They let us bring Afton home early, two days later, before he had to leave, to share a precious few hours. Almost two months later, we joined Daddy in Bavaria, Germany. 

And she grew up to be beautiful, inside and out.

 

After All Is Said and Done

Whose Idea Was This??

With such an auspicious Hospital background, it's a wonder I didn't finish Medical School. Or even start. Didn't finish Nursing School either, although I did the first two years at University before going crazy and switching majors my Junior and Senior years. How does that go? The best laid plans....

I don't know, maybe there had been signs. Like when I flew home from Utah for Christmas vacation my Freshman year. The hospital actually hired me as a Nurse's Aide for those two weeks. I was so excited! Until I passed out at the bedside of my first patient and hit my head on the bed rails before starting an intimate relationship with the floor. 

This was following my first ever plane trip the day before, which was in a vintage WWII aircraft that the Pilot and his wife, the Stewardess, had bought to start their own private company. What a ride! Maybe I had a "planeover" the next day? We did actually make it, against all odds, obviously. Unfortunately, the enterprising couple perished in it a couple years later. Anyway, I digress.

So my friends there, the Staff, picked me up off the floor and put me in a private room and faithfully monitored me that day. How embarrassing! When they would leave my room, I would jump out of bed and put my uniform back on and start taking care of my assigned patients again. Till the Nurses would see me, and whisk me off my feet and right back to bed. Then they would leave, and I would quickly get dressed again, sneak out, and carry on. Rinse and repeat. Good intentions, but.... The next day was better. We all pretended I was normal.

It wasn't the end of the world, of course, but the next summer I decided to apply as a nursing intern at the Insane Asylum, Elgin State Hospital, instead of returning to St. Jo's. After all, what could possibly go wrong?

_________________________________________________________________________

If you're curious about that epilogue, you have to go back to 1/20/2011 for the first installment of those State Hospital days. (There's 5 days of memories about that starting there until I get around to getting more organized.)

Frank Pascente Jr.

Yes. That was his name. Frank Pascente. I think he may have been in room #327 when our paths crossed. I had been a teenybopper Candystriper at St. Joseph Hospital (Elgin) for 3 years by then.

How I had loved serving patients on the 3rd floor of the hospital, whether it was delivering meal trays, feeding those who were unable to feed themselves, filling water pitchers, changing sheets, sponge baths, giving gentle massages, emptying bedpans (ok, not so much, but sterilizing them wasn't bad), taking temps and blood pressures, running countless specimens upstairs to the Lab, other things I can't mention... whatever the nurses wanted me to do. 

But some patients were just more fun, more memorable than others. And my favorite of all time, and the only one whose name I can remember was Frank, the G.O.A.T. What the heck was this young guy doing in the hospital, for heaven's sake? The young were few and far between in those rooms. While I was used to interacting with patients and getting along well with everyone, this was the first time anyone paid so much attention to me, teasing me and basically being the big brother I had always wanted but never had. So yes, he was extra special in my book. I didn't really know why he was there week after week, but I looked forward to seeing him every day that I was there. 

Frank was really good looking, in an Italian kind of way, and really good natured, in an Italian kind of way! In his late 20's, dark hair, charismatic smile. He was married with two young daughters. Happy and fulfilled. Never complaining or upset. So I just assumed whatever he was there for was being handled and all was ok. He was such a bright, bright spot. I didn't ask questions. And so it went. Good times, I thought.

And then that winter weekend I showed up as usual and took the elevator to the 3rd floor, stopped in to #327 to check on Frank and see if he needed anything, before going to check in at the nurses' station. But he wasn't there. Did they move him to another room? Send him home? I went down to the nurses' station and saw the Head Nurse coming out and said, "Where's Frank?"

I knew her well and she knew me well too, and how close I was to him, and she just stopped in her tracks, not knowing what to do. 

"Oh, Muffi, I'm so sorry. We just lost Frank. You knew he had cancer, right? The cancer won."

WHAT?  WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?

I couldn't believe her. And I couldn't not believe her. I couldn't fall apart there in the hallway. And I couldn't not fall apart. The nurses and aides all came to comfort me. But I was out of control. Totally out of control!

I don't know how I found out later what funeral home he was taken too. I don't even know how I got home. I only knew I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. And that I wanted to. Somehow I got it in my head and heart that I should go there for the viewing. 

And so I did. 

When I got there, I froze and couldn't move from the back of the room. Just wasn't possible. So there I was, paralyzed and blending into the back wall. Only a few awkward moments passed, but it seemed like eternity. Then someone noticed me, left the group gathered around the front of the room where Frank now laid, grasped my hand and gently walked me up to the casket. Without saying a word. It was Pat, his widow, whom I had never met, who had no way of knowing me. And yet, somehow she did. 

Who does that? What kind of angel can emerge from the midst of her own grief to reach out to some obscure shy teenager without much of a right to be there, an uninvited distraction at best. I had wanted to melt into the floor until she reached me and gently helped me out of myself and gave me the borrowed strength to see my buddy one last time. 

Who does that? Maybe the kind of person who married the kind of person who earlier reached out to me, despite unimaginable pain and suffering, to make me feel like a mere run of the mill teenager mattered.

In all the millions of moments since that time, I have many times thought of Frank and Pat, and been so glad that these two had each other for the brief time that they did. And that they crossed my path, however briefly. I think they were both very rare humans and I'm so grateful for their example. It's given me the inspiration and courage to be mindful of others in the midst of unbidden trials, in the tsunami of grief, through the many, many decades since these special souls showed me who they were, and how to walk in those footsteps of the One who cares most of all for each and every one of us.

The Most Dangerous Day in Human History

Candystriper life. Seeing a lot of unexpected things working in a hospital environment maybe helped me grow up fast in some ways... or grow up weird. There's that. Because so much there was literally life and death, the culture at High School wasn't all that compelling to me. So during the school year, I was more committed to spending weekends at the hospital rather than at football games and parties. I felt strangely mature because I was treated that way there by patients and staff, and I seemed to handle emergencies and dire circumstances there well. Calmly.

JFK Addresses Nation

Until that one day. October 27, 1962. The Cuban Missile Crisis. The most dangerous day in human history. When Nuclear War was suddenly ominous and imminent. The world had spiraled out of control. President Kennedy was addressing the nation and all the patients' televisions were simultaneously pulsing with the bleak and terrifying reality. Never had we been closer to the annihilation we had been getting ready for since the air raid sirens sent us under our desks in elementary school and Jr. High. Immediately I accepted that I wouldn't be going home from the Hospital to tell my family I loved them and to face the end together with them that afternoon. Unbelievable. Overwhelming. And the only thing left to do was to keep helping people where I was. Calmly. Until we were wiped out.

It probably sounds bloody dramatic, but it actually was that close. Seriously. Life on planet earth was hanging by a thread. Blink, and what happens? 

Perhaps we all are closer at times to the final curtain than we realize. What would you do if you suddenly found yourself aware that the apocalyptic end was a only breath away? 

I don't know if you believe in miracles or not, but there's the story of the one man who truly saved the world at that critical moment.

https://www.gzcenter.org/the-man-who-saved-the-world-from-a-nuclear-war/.

And here's the years later declassified scoop:

https://www.usni.org/magazines/naval-history-magazine/2021/june/black-saturday-declassified

The Irony

St. Joseph Hospital, Elgin, IL

Does it make any sense to you at all that on many days, tiny me was "in charge" of our tiny ER? Me neither. But there I was in the diminutive (2 exam tables) room across from the hospital kitchen and next door to the Morgue. That was it! Dr. Andy Nowakowski was the official Elgin Police Department Physician, so accidents, crimes, DOA's, etc. were supposedly sent to (125 bed) St. Jo's instead of to the newer, bigger Sherman Hospital a few blocks away. Hmmm.  

At any rate, when I was there, always by myself, if someone came in (no advance notice back then (no cell phones, etc.) ambulance or walk in, there would just suddenly be people showing up at the door), well there I was! Just me. Can you imagine how reassuring it would be to rush into a hospital ER in sheer desperation, only to be met by a 13 year old volunteer who would get you on an examining table? Yep. So I would immediately call up to the 4th floor Surgery Department, and a Resident Dr. accompanied by a Surgical Nurse would jump on the somewhat rickety service elevator and appear a few minutes later to save the day. Or at least try to. 

To pass the time in between these pressing emergencies to deal with, I would assemble surgical trays for the sterilizer. Some days were slow. Some days anything but.

Somehow I never reacted emotionally. I got used to different situations and was always able to be calm regardless of the degree of injury. Until that one day. They brought a baby in from an auto accident. This was an age of no seat belts, no car seats, not much in the way of accident prevention; but according to my perception there was a heck of a lot less traffic, less idiots on the road, at least that's how I remember it. Your mileage may vary. 

So I had them put the baby on the exam table while we waited for the Dr. and Nurse to appear. And as soon as they did, I bolted from the room. The one and only time I ever did. That miniature little nose had been severed and was only attached by the tiniest of flaps, and it seemed unbearable to me that this vulnerable itty bitty human had to suffer like that. I couldn't take it. I had to leave.

I'm sure there were many people that came to that room in greater agony than that little soul, but for some reason, it just hit me harder than anything else had. Perhaps because most patients were adults. Ironically, 10 years later I would find myself, arms loaded with a laundry basket full of wet clothes to hang in the sunshine, swinging open the back door of my house, and knocking my own 18 month old baby boy off the porch, thus severing his nose. At the hospital in Denver, the Dr. who was stitching him up told my husband that he was way more concerned with me than the baby because I was so unhinged. Life is weird, no? So sorry, Adam.