Sunday, July 8: Last night we slept, me comfortably, Sharon intermittently. At 5 this morning we get up and get ready. Things are pretty matter-of-fact, given that we've got an appointment to go to the hospital and have this actual baby. (Neighbour) Connie Warren comes over, and we drive through the glistening country roads to the hospital. Mozart, piano # 17, just for the record. At 6:30 we’re admitted, at 7:00 we’re hooked up. Sharon measures at two cm. Is that it?
The day turns out like some avant garde film; short the conventions of standard characters with standard goals, you’re not sure how or when it’s going to end. Everything was attended by an is-it-now? suspense that looks faintly silly in retrospect. At 7:30 I rush back to get the girls. We have decided that some things should be witnessed, especially when you're in the midst of the last likely chance to witness them. We leave the boys with Connie. “I love you, Matt,” says Sarah (eight years old). “I’m upset!” says Matt (just turned three). We get back to the hospital at 9. Mum looks somehow, oh, exactly the same. Dr. Nance comes, pre-his church, to check at 9:30. “See you after church,” he says.
So we settle in for the long occupation. We play Battleship, Hi-Q (Sarah cheats!), string games. We read, fitfully (Tove Jansson, mostly). These contractions are quick—two, two-and-a-half minutes apart, and when we look over we see Sharon, setting her teeth and going through it. We go for a drive through town, then come back to find things pretty well unchanged. At 1:15 the doctor returns and breaks the water.
The kids, who’ve been noticing the passage of time, are suddenly, briefly wide-eyed and silent. They might not have been sure they wanted to see that. Just wait.
The pain gets worse.
We go to the cafeteria. We play some more games. Drew (ten years old) and Sarah start visiting the lounge, or looking through the windows into the nursery. Caitlin (twelve) is attentive and interested and helpful. At 3:00 Sharon gets a shot of Nubane, and feels blissful for awhile. These good girls are feeling a bit restless. I’m sent home at 3:30 for some food. I’m back at 4:30 to find that we’re at six cm., and that things seem to be moving. The girls eat a bit, and watch an old (’91) home movie I’ve brought. It goes over really well.
The pain is getting bad, and in fact it proves to be positively breathtaking. The old trooper calls for an epidural—-too late! “I’m too old… I can’t do it…” She does it.
Doctor Nance returns at 5:30, the stirrups go up and we come to the moment, or to the moments. The everlasting pattern repeats. One push, and a crown. The girls are standing on the couch, stunned, shrinking a little bit. I pan quickly across them with my eyes and see Sarah at the end, moved to tears. I feel a stab myself—-looking at them, I’m seeing this for the first time again.
I rush to Sarah and then turn around. We all see a second push and, down below, a whole squinty, pugilist’s head. A third push and our new baby sister comes into the world. Another girl--what I’d hoped for! Ah.
The doctor cuts the chord and gets a spurt of blood in the face. It even hits the ceiling. We all enjoy that. Except the doctor. The matter of fact, post-partum scurrying and cleaning begins, not quite masking the fiercely biological nature of the whole transaction, or the awesome immanence of the thing. 5:44, 20”, 8 lbs and 9 ounces. Claire Duncan.
She didn’t cry, and they can’t quite make her. Sharon has the baby, and she looks fresh and delighted. Heroic, in fact! The girls get just a bit clamoury. I had been ten hours for them, and twelve for Sharon! This is the longest ever—-she paid hours for those few days she gained.
Caitlin calls Spence (five years). “Oh! I wanted a baby sister!”
Matt gets on the line and talks about Donald Duck. The baby goes to the nursery, Mum prepares to go to her room, and we walk out onto the rain-shiny street and drive home. The girls are cheerful and kindly—-this is a good thing to have done.
Connie gives a report. At church Matt lost track of himself and went up the aisle, asking “have you seen my brother, Spencer Duncan?” The Randalls, and Bill Mackenzie come over for a long chat. When they (finally) leave Spence says, “Russell and Brock, hopefully you can come over tomorrow and see our new baby sister.”
I don’t get back to the hospital until 10:30. Sharon wakes up. We talk briefly. I sit on the other bed. At midnight I wake up, say goodnight and go blearily, happily home.
