September 21, 2005 – Birthing a Grandbaby

September 21, 2005 – Birthing a Grandbaby

The birth of our first grandchild was a momentous occasion in the life of our family as well as in the life of the expectant parents our eldest daughter ME and her husband GS. She would represent the fourth generation—my mother and father, Nida and Mac would be great-grandparents. As ME’s pregnancy progressed apace starting in mid-1996 and proceeding to its due date in early April 1997, my wife IM and I participated as proud parents do in the major milestones along the way. We drove down for the ultrasound and proudly posted the Polaroid print—our grandchild’s first picture—on the refrigerator and smiled each time we glanced upon it each day. We kept suggesting baby names to ME, which she would consider and continue to postpone her final decision. Naming a baby with two sets of grandparents to consider is a tough job since the mother must come up with a handle that she wants and is confident will please both grandparents—or displease each equally. Thus was EM named to the pleasure of both sets of grandparents.

Our daughter and her husband lived in Costa Mesa at the time and were to deliver baby EM at Hoag Hospital, which sits atop a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean just above Highway 1, the Pacific Coast Highway, between Superior Avenue on the west and Highway 55—Old Newport Boulevard, on the east. In my estimation a more beautiful place to be born could not be found, though little EM could take no notice of the scenery as she pushed and shoved her way into the world. The grandparents waiting for news of progress could take comfort in the spectacular scene of the sun, bidding adieu to California in the western sky as it hurried on its way to Asia and beyond. ME and GS had made the short 10-minute trip from their house near Estancia High School to the hospital on several occasions. They also had ME’s suitcase full of things needed for her delivery at the ready. With only the two of them in their three-bedroom home, we had a room to stay overnight when IM and I came down to visit, which we did on several occasions during the nine months of ME’s pregnancy—expectant grandparents. In the final few weeks IM stayed with ME while I visited on the weekends.

In her third trimester and ME was big with child, we made plans for my parents to come out for the birth. I sent them train tickets—mom refused to fly—that would have them arrive in Los Angeles from El Paso the week before the birth. I would pick them up at the Los Angeles Union Train Station and we would visit with ME and GS for a day or so then I would take them up north so they could visit my sister SA who back then lived in San Jose not far from us. SA is my half sister from my mother’s first marriage—her father died a few years after she was born. When ME went into labor, I would drive mom, dad, and myself back down for the birth. First babies, if our daughter ME’s birth was any indication, take their time from the onset of frequent contractions.

All went according to plan. The Saturday before ME was scheduled to deliver I drove to Union Station at 800 N. Alameda Street, taking the Alameda Street Exit off Highway 101 and driving up to the grand old terminal built with the early 20th Century mission architecture that characterized the grand structures of Southern California. The entrance with its high arches, resembling an upside down “U” rising two-thirds of the way to the top of the tall imposing structure. Each of the windows to the left of the entrance had the same upside down “U” shape and rose as high. Upon entering the station, the visitor is greeted by an enormous high-ceilinged interior, decorated in the Spanish Colonial Revival and Art Deco motif popular at the time of its construction in 1939. The floor plan resembles the cross of a cathedral and the high ceiling with its enormous dark wood beam cross members, gives you the sensation of a church. I immediately remembered my childhood and experienced the same awe I felt entering the train stations of my youth. It was if I had been transported back in time.

After getting over my excitement of the building, I looked for the arrival platform noticing that the train carrying my parents had just pulled in. Not knowing what exit from the train they my alight from, I stood near the head of the line of passengers filing off the trains along its length: an enormous snake spilling its contents. After a large number of the passengers had passed me by, I noticed my mother and father slowly making their way toward the exit. I hurried to greet them hugging each in turn. I walked with the two of them slowly—age takes its time while youth hurried unmindfully along—to the baggage claim area. It took some time for their bags to be delivered and we caught up on their train trip over. My mother enjoyed having the sleeper cabin so that the two of them could stretch out and be lulled to sleep by the white noise of continuously clicking metal wheels rolling along the rails. My father enjoyed the nostalgia of the trip, recalling earlier train trips he had made in his youth. This was the first time either had traveled by train for over 30 years—the car and airplane the preferred mode of transport in the interim.

Acquiring their luggage, we loaded up and drove to Costa Mesa and the reunion with IM and their expectant granddaughter and husband. It was late afternoon on Saturday March 29th 1997 when we arrived in Costa Mesa. I had acquired a room at a nearby hotel for them to stay overnight. The following day I would drive them north to our house in San Jose. We spent that afternoon and evening catching up and feasting—though I can’t remember if we cooked an elaborate dinner at home or ordered take out.

ME was due toward the end of the following week and we had all taken bets on when the great event would occur. I drove my mom and dad to our place in San Jose. IM remained behind with ME. After spending the early part of the week in our place, mom and dad visited my sister SA and her husband BA and spent Tuesday night with them. On Wednesday evening, we all went into downtown San Jose to La Pastaia Restaurant inside the Hotel De Anza—once a derelict hotel that had fallen from its lofty perch as the premier hotel of downtown renovated to its former glory 15 years ago. My mother is not a dining-out kind of person preferring to have banquets of her preparing at home, but tonight she was dining out. My father hadn’t been out to a fancy place in many years and was questioning me about the various dishes on the menu. He inquired about polenta and I replied, “grits with Italian flavoring.” My parents got into the mood of the evening and we spent a good couple of hours catching up and discussing the impending birth.

On Thursday at around noon, I received a call from IM on my cell phone. I was having lunch with a marketing manager along with another editor from the magazine we both worked for at the time. I excused myself and took the call, hurrying back to the table and taking my leave, explaining I had a grand daughter on her way. I called my mom and dad, now back at our place and told them to get packed we were on our way down south. When I arrived I loaded everyone up with their belongings and we headed south down Highway 101, over to Interstate 5 and after one stop for gas and a second quick stop at the hotel in Costa Mesa to check my mom and dad in, we were driving into the parking lot of Hoag Hospital. A few minutes later we were all walking into the birthing room where ME, GS, and IM had already gathered along with GS’s parent LS and MS and his sister, NS. Also awaiting us were our youngest daughter RD and her significant other TF.

EM like her mother was taking her time finding her way into the world. To help her along her road ME began a regimen of pacing the hallway outside the birthing room and returning when the exertion and pain got to be too much. I had given RD my video camera and she was recording one of the walks, narrating the scene by introducing all those in attendance and describing her sister’s laboring promenade. That was early evening when the sun was just setting over the blue Pacific outside. The wait went on for hours with both sets of grandparents and my mother and father sitting in the waiting room waiting for word. Sometime early Friday morning around 4 a.m.,our grandchild finally burst into the world to the great relief of all assembled. When ME was born I was alone outside in the waiting room pacing up and down and smoking cigarette after cigarette and drinking coffee. Now a generation later, EM had an audience offering great applause to her debut.

Once we had all seen the little newborn safely being ministered to in the hospital nursery, we all congratulated one tired mommy who was longing to rest from her marathon delivery. We also gave the beleaguered dad his due for being there all the while, helping and offering the emotional support that turned a lone ordeal into a shared struggle. Once we had gotten everyone settled, I took my mom and dad to their hotel so they could get some rest. It had been a long day for the two of them. The following day we all reassembled at the hospital to finally get a chance to hold the new member of the family. My mother and father each born at the dawn of the 20th Century was holding their great grandchild as we approached the beginning of the 21st Century. I was struck by the symmetry of the scene and it gave me a great sense of peace and happiness.

When IM took little EM into her arms, I was reminded of my first sight of her holding ME in her arms at Prince George General Hospital in Cheverly Maryland. Little ME was content and quiet in her mother’s arms, looking up in wonder at her adoring parent. She had just been fed and the earth and all the planets were perfectly aligned. IM had a bright glow all about her and I saw it in my daughter as she watched those assembled around her bed taking turns holding wee EM. Though we all realized that the cycle of renewal had begun again, it was hard to see beyond the moment.