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Archive for September, 2020

Remington

It was September 8, and I had to close up shop and hang the out to lunch sign before I could go to the hospital and see what was happening with April and her primagravida labor.  Days that make themselves special by initiating the life of a precious grandbaby are like none other.  I was eager to get there and see how it was all going.  The hospital Lane and April had chosen provided each couple a private labor suite where whoever passed as family was accommodated and could offer any kind of beneficence to the work at hand.

This smart young couple had chosen to birth in a modern hospital but under the cozy supervision of a certified midwife.  That winning combination of expertise was proceeding apace, and by the time I arrived, things were ready to happen.  But nothing was—happening that is.  The birthing had reached an impasse.  April’s mom Diane was enjoined with the midwife in a partnership of gloomy concern. 

I had found the right room, entered, shucked my jacket, and asked what was wrong.  The midwife explained, “April is fully effaced.  The baby is ready, but she is having a hard time pushing down.”

“So, nothing is wrong that would keep baby from being born?”  I verified.

“No.  She just needs to push.”

I turned to April and gave her a little hug.  “Come on.  Let’s see that baby,” I enthused.  “We’ll help.  Look!  Diane and I will work on each side.” 

I held her right hand.  Diane grabbed the left.  We all three held our breaths while April, brave girl that she was, pushed like crazy.

But she stopped and cried, “I can’t do it.  It’ll never come out. 

“Oh yes it can! “ I rejoindered.  “We can do this.  Now push!”

Suddenly the midwife too got energized.  “She’s crowning!” 

Diane and I went to see for ourselves.  “Wow!  Look at all that hair!”

“Sure enough, it’s a baby!  Push now April! You can do this!

Diane and I resumed our bilateral stations, our efforts surely more psychological than physical.  We squeezed April’s hands, held our breaths then grunted in trio, and baby Taylor soon slid agreeably into the midwife’s gloved hand basket. She expertly performed her hygienic ritual to mark one more beautiful life among us.  April perked up right away, grabbed her phone and allowed herself to be perched on a bedpan whilst baby Taylor took off for his first rub-a-dub-dub.  So perky was she that the several ob nurses decided to take off for lunch—together.  After having reported the good news to several friends, she began working on a diary entry.  Suddenly April turned to me and asked, “Mom is it ok for little stars to be swimming all around?”

I gasped, peeked into the bedpan and choked.  Diane and I looked at each other and paled in tandem.  The tendency was to wring hands and moan, but that was not what was needed.  I pivoted, dashed out and ran down the hall screaming, “Nurse!  Help!  Help!”  It took a while since there were no nurses.  An orderly located a doctor, and soon April, out cold, was being wheeled into an operating room.  Diane and I were left to hope and to pray.

My husband Ken, the next day at work met one of the doctors and was told, “We almost lost your daughter yesterday.”  Maybe her strong performance gave the staff way too much confidence in the situation.  Whatever the cause, the result was blessed, and baby Taylor, now a great grownup guy is still enjoying his mother April, who will soon be learning how to be a grandmother in her own right.  It will be her turn to be a cheerleader—no pushing required.

The next day Lane asked Ken, and me, “What if we call him Remington?  Would that be a good thing?”  The Taylors share an appreciation of firearms, their excellent design and craftsmanship, and a strong second amendment value, but Lane wondered if so naming a son might be too much of a good thing.

“It’s a good strong name,” I replied, “and if you and April like it, why not?”  Ken very much agreed.

So baby Taylor became Remington Phillip Taylor, and another strong branch of the Taylor legacy began weaving its story, the Phillip being a nod to Rem’s maternal grandfather.  Emily and Rem are spreading rumors of an upcoming event that is likely to be titled Maddox—another good strong name and a bold stake into the solid ground of a hopeful future.

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