A birthday story

My birthday was Tuesday and this may be a little late, but let me tell you how I was born.

My mother, Marguerite, went into labor in the middle of the night. After several hours, she finally woke her husband, Adam, to tell him it was time. Apparently, she didn't know that a second child often arrives faster than the first, so she took her time, showing Adam how to cook the casseroles in the freezer and the proper way to run the washing machine. Neighbors arrived to watch two year old Tim. The husband, who was an opthamologist, got on the phone with the obstetrician and told him he may need to deliver the baby right there. The obstetrician said this was not the neighbor's specialty and to send Marguerite to the hospital, so she was loaded into the back seat of the family car, a two-door sedan.

Adam drove north on Broadway, speeding as fast as he could, headed towards the maternity hospital in Tarrytown. Marguerite screamed from the back seat all the way. When they arrived, Adam pulled into the parking lot, parked the car and ran through the front door. It was 5:30 am and a very bored nurse was sitting by herself at the reception desk, reading a magazine. Adam yelled that his wife was inside a car in the parking lot, having a baby. Without even looking up, the nurse said, "Go around to the Emergency Room entrance in the back".

Adam ran back to the car, but as he got closer, he realized Marguerite was talking to someone. Yes, it was me! Here's a picture of the first thing I ever saw, the dashboard of a 1946 DeSoto Club Coupe.

Adam went running back into the hospital and yelled to the nurse, "The baby's HERE!". The magazine and the nurse went flying. In just a few minutes, hospital staff members were gathered around the car, trying to maneuver Marguerite (and baby me) past the folded-down front seat.

Later, Adam learned that the obstetrician had stopped for coffee and donuts on the way to the hospital, thinking that everyone had been overreacting a bit and there was plenty of time. Even though he missed the birth, he sent my parents a bill.

This is one of my favorite pictures of me, taken at my grandfather's house in Poquannock Bridge, CT. In the background, you can see the famous DeSoto. For as long as we owned this car, my mother called me her "backseat girl".

Comments

[Alison Hyde]

Oh, that's funny!

My mom made it to the hospital to have my little sister, (her 5th--we were definitely baby boomers), very barely there in time, but the anesthesiologist strolled by with his shot and knocked her out for the birth *after* she'd had the baby! And killed a nerve in her arm for a year with the darn thing. The hospital was so sure she was going to sue. Mom just went, eh, we all have our stupidities; that'll teach him to listen to his patients.

[Patricia]

What a wonderful story. I hope that your parents scrapped the bill. Donuts...really. Thanks for sharing.