Bundle of Joy

Bundle of Joy


"Jeff, wake up. I'm getting contractions. Sharp ones."

I looked at the clock on the wall. The fading neon hands showed that it was just after four in the morning. I turned over and faced her. Even in the near darkness I could still make out most of her features, if only the outlines of her face and nightgown. Standing at the foot of the bed, next to the door, she gently touched her swollen belly. I did a calculation on how quickly I could get ready.

"How far apart are they?" I ask.

"Five minutes."

"Let's go."

“Don't worry. My water hasn't broken yet. On second thought, go back to sleep."

It has always been my philosophy to listen to my wife when she makes sense, especially when it involves sleep. Soon I was back in the cradle of my dreams. After all, one cannot have too much shut-eye. Besides, she had been having sharp contractions off and on for several days now. She would let me know if it was serious.

Half an hour later it wasn't serious, it was an emergency.

"Wake up, Jeff. Baby's coming."

There is nothing like the possibility of a baby being born in my bedroom to get my attention. I changed my clothes and prepared to get in the car. "Wait," she said. "Call the hospital. Let them know we're on our way." I always figured that we could let them know we needed medical attention, by yelling and pounding on their front door. After a quick call, we ran around the house collecting odds and ends that would be essential to the birthing experience, such as clothes, toiletries, and baby supplies.

Once we got in the car, our soon to be delivered daughter Jaisa, decided that we had wasted too much time getting ready, and she wasn't going to wait much longer. Evidently, my wife had little say in the matter, and confined herself to telling her stomach to wait a little longer before starting the performance. Having even fewer options myself, I decided to do what every man of the house ought to do when facing such a crisis: I put my foot down. On the gas pedal. I prayed, as we zoomed down the country road at 65 miles an hour, that any cops watching the road were taking well-deserved naps or somewhere else nabbing jaywalkers. I wasn't disappointed.

We slowed down as we entered the hospital and drove up to the emergency room check-in. No one was there. I shouldn't have been surprised. This was a country hospital after all, and they didn't have the manpower to watch all the doors - but the emergency room?

Back in the car my wife informed me that her water broke. We rushed to the maternity wing of the hospital. The doors were locked. I repeatedly pushed a button on the side of the door labeled 'admittance'. I figured it would alert the nurses that a very pregnant woman and a stressed out husband wanted in. We pushed it several more times. Nobody came and Jay, my wife, was getting desperate and I knew delivery was only minutes away.

I was beginning to think that this was just a mock hospital that some people had put together as a practical joke. Any minute I was expecting someone to walk up and say "Oh, by the way, the *real* hospital is a couple miles down the road." Then the three of us would get in the car and race to our actual destination, because our prankster would be missing some teeth and would be needing medical attention.

Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I ran to the emergency door and hit the intercom button. A nurse answered. I explained myself as only a man with a very pregnant wife can, then raced back to where my wife stood. She was gone, the doors to the OB still locked, and her backpack and shoes on the ground. Barring an alien abduction, I figured someone had let her in while I was gone.

Grabbing the backpack and shoes, I ran back to the emergency room. Someone had left the door open in my short absence. I ran through and took the elevator to the birthing floor.

After that it was easy to locate my wife. She lay on the bed all ready to go. Three nurses ran around flipping switches and twisting dials on ominous machines. No doctor in sight. Chalk it up to my civilian assumptions of what goes on in a hospital, but I had this idea that when a lady is about to give birth, there is a doctor hanging around, if for nothing else, to help the father pass out cigars. What we got was a ER doctor dressed like an intern that darkened the doorway for a minute or so before taking off again because everything looked fine.

That was the signal the baby was waiting for. Our cries for patience ignored, she began making her way to the light at the end of the tunnel. In thirty seconds and two pushes later it was all over. Jaisa, our newborn lay in the soft light of the hospital room. After her cord was cut, she was dried off, and handed to her proud mother for cuddling. Seeing the two of them together, peaceful and content, it was easy to forget all the troubles outside the hospital walls. With most of the work over, the nurses busied themselves with cleaning up the room. As I was finding a seat outside the nurse-cordoned area of the room, the doctor walked in. She blessed each of us, pronounced the baby born, and left again. I sat back and relaxed as the nurses finished cleaning up and weighed my daughter.

Thinking to myself, I wondered if the next eighteen years of raising Jaisa would be this easy.

Not a chance.