Throwback Thursday

Ma and us, Winter 1956
The Brother is 6 going on 7
I am 6 or 7 mos old.

All About Me - Part 2

Last week, we left off:

Ma was  trying to get to sleep. She was  uncomfortable, and the sounds of the television was keeping her awake. She told Dad it was time, and to call Mrs. Stacy, the next door neighbor to come and stay with The Boy. And off Ma and Dad went to the hospital in Waltham, a half an hour or so ride.

Ma knew it was not TIME, but figured the hospital would admit her, send Dad home, as dads were not allowed in the delivery room, and she would get a good night's sleep. Her due date wasn't until August 4. The plan worked just as Ma thought. She was admitted to the maternity ward, and Dad went home and was able to catch the late news.

Dad wasn't home very long when the telephone rang. Though Ma had gone to the hospital on a false alarm to get some sleep, I had other ideas. Things must have happened very quickly.

Dr. McCarthy called to tell Dad, Ma had gone into labor and things were not good. The fall during her 6th month had cause problems, placenta previa where the placenta is birthed first. Not a good thing. The doctor told Dad he would probably be able to save the mother or the child, but not both. He wanted Dad to make the decision of who to save.

Now Catholic teaching would be for Dad to say, save the child. I'm sure as a father with a young son, he wrestled with the idea of how would he manage to take care of an infant as well as a young son. The decision was clear for him. Save the mother.

There was nothing Dad would be able to do. He said he dropped to his knees and prayed things would turn out okay.

Besides placenta previa, I must have also been a breech. That is, entering the world bottom's up instead of face up. Ma said the doctor worked hard to turn me around and get me going in the right direction. It's probably why I have such a poor sense of direction and issues with left and right.

While it was touch and go, obviously things had a happy ending as I am here. Ma had told me I was born at 6 AM on July 28, 1955. I never thought much about the time just took Ma's word for it. Not long ago, while having to get documents for a new license, I was looking at my birth certificate. Time of birth was listed as 0:06 AM. I'm sure with all that Ma went through, she didn't really know what time I had been born, but it looks like I was born 6 minutes past midnight.

Now Dad was relieved that all turned out well though he was disappointed I was not a boy. I knew this fact as a kid and it probably had a lot to do with me being a tomboy.

I was also the Little Princess and could twirl Dad around my little finger. He never disciplined me as he always felt a little guilty about the impossible decision he was forced to make. I only remember one time where I was disciplined by him. I was a teen and I had mouthed off to him. He raised his hand to slap me across the face and at the very last second, pulled the slap and tapped me on the cheek. A very light tap. ( Lighter even than the Bishop when administering the slap during the Confirmation ceremony. ) I was shocked that Dad dared raised his hand to me. It was the first and last time that ever happened.

Later in life when our roles reversed and I became the caregiver/parent, I was on my home after a round of shopping or appointments. Dad walked me to the car as he always did. He said, you know I was very disappointed when you were born and you weren't a boy, but I'm so glad you're my daughter. I'm so grateful for the way you and Himself take care of Mother and me.