lifeinthealong.com
repository for the occasional perambulatory rumination

Aug

28

Happy Birthday to Kipp

Filed Under Ruminations

At 4:51 a.m. this very morning some 29 years ago, my son Kipp was born. Or, as I like to say, he left one world for another, something that I was thrilled about - not just to hold my baby boy, but because as you can surely imagine: it was not much fun being hugely pregnant in the humid heat of August. He was born a scant 14 months after his sister Alison was born, and because her birth was fraught with debacles, I had a sit-down-eye-to-eye talk with the doctor a few weeks before Kipp was born. The doctor - a male who was, by all accounts, not used to being told by his female patients how they wanted things to go (this was a different time in the world of obstetrics) - got up and left the room when I told him that I preferred an epidural as my anesthesia of choice Having worked in a hospital to put myself through college, I thought it was merely his inept-but-it’s-okay-because-I’m-a-doctor-and-you’re-not way of saying okay.

Because Alison was born via emergency Caesarian and because once a C-section meant always a C-section back then, we were to report to the hospital at 1:00 p.m. for surgery at 2. But Kipp thought differently. He was okay with the date - 8/28/1978 had a good ring to it - but the time just did not suit.

I spent the day before canning green beans (still have one jar left with no plans to use it for anything other than nostalgic , sentimental sustenance), and about 8:00 p.m. my back started hurting. When my water broke around 2 a.m., I called my parents and got them to come take care of Alison, called the doctor, then finally managed to wake up my sleeping beauty husband, a.k.a. chauffeur.

We got to the hospital, and Andy dropped me off at the nearest door while he went to park the car. “I’ve come to have a baby,” I said to the admissions woman in answer to her “How can we help you?” greeting. She didn’t waste much time on questions, just fetched a wheelchair and ushered me right on up where I settled into a labor room.

The yawning doctor arrived reading his clipboard, and without ever so much as attempting to make eye contact with me, snapped it shut and announced on his way to the door: “I always use general anesthesia when doing C-sections.”

“But remember: we talked about this,” I said sitting up in bed, talking to his back, “I’m going to have an epidural.”

“I’m going to use general anesthesia or I’m not delivering this baby. Period,” he said as he turned to face me - making eye contact for the first time, obviously annoyed - followed by: “What are you doing?”

“I’m leaving,” I said as I slid my feet into my shoes.

And I did. I have control issues (or so I’m told) and they surely showed that night (or so I’m told). I did not want to be under general anesthesia when my baby was born, and I was just crazy enough to believe that I had some say over what happened to my body.

I met Andy in the hallway. He was coming in, I was heading out. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home.”

He blanched as his brain quickly absorbed the distinct possibility of him having to deliver this baby at home or en route. “Home?”<

“Yes. Home.” I kept walking.

“Why?”

“Because Dr Whozit just informed me that he’s using general anesthesia or he’s not delivering this baby, and I, as I told him weeks ago, do not want general anesthesia. Now come on. Go get the car. I’ll meet you downstairs at the door.”

Just about that time, another doctor appeared and inquired as to my intended destination. When I told him I was going home and why, he introduced himself as the anesthesiologist and asked me to go back into the room - which I did, albeit reluctantly.

“Chambers?” he asked. “Any relation to Donn Chambers?”

“He’s my brother-in-law,” I said. “Why?”

“I was an intern under him. Now what’s this about you leaving before the baby is born?”

“Did you like him?”

“Who?”

“Donn. Did you like him?” (It seemed an appropriate and important question before we went any further.)

“Yes,” he said, “I did like Donn.”

I slid my feet out of my shoes and swung my legs up onto the bed. “I talked to the good doctor weeks ago and told him I wanted to use an epidural - which he agreed to - and now he tells me it’s general anesthesia or nothing. I’m going with the nothing. At home.” And I swung my feet off the bed again.

“Whoa,” he said. “Wait just a minute. I’ll be right back.”

He left the room, and when he came back a few minutes later, he smiled and said, “Okay, it’s all set: you’ll have an epidural. No general.”

“No general? You’re sure? How’d you manage that?”

“I simply told him ‘You deliver the baby, I’ll deliver the anesthesia.’”

I swung my feet back up onto the bed and pulled the crisp white sheet up over me. Kipp was born less than an hour later - with an epidural to dull the pain.

So it was and is: Kipp was born, the epidural wore off, and here we are some 29 years later: Kipp too far away on the west coast and me still here at home. As is our mother/son custom, I called him at precisely 4:51 a.m. to wish him happy birthday and talk a bit about That Day. This year we talked as we watched the full eclipse of the moon - something that happens at precisely 4:51 a.m. - both watching the same event from different perspectives.

Some folks believe that the full eclipse represents the time of endings when we are forced to release attachments or relationships that keep us from our destiny. But sometimes, in the great cycle of things, it’s hard to tell endings from beginnings.

Happy birthday, Kipp.

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