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PatchWork
by Joyce Whitis |
"Yesterday an angel went up to heaven, today another came to earth." My grandson told me this right after his daughter was born. Only the day before, the family had buried his great-grandmother, Alma Luttrell. I was deeply touched by his words, and that started me to thinking about life and how all the turning wheels mesh to form a working plan for us all, sometimes much shorter than we ourselves would have made.
Our great grand-daughter, Nicole Diane Whitis was born just before noon on Tuesday, July 22 and what an arrival she had! She didn't wait for the doctor but chose the attending nurse for her delivery, monitered by her grandmother and her father. It's a good thing I had gone for lunch because the only thing I am really good at in such situations is frantic hand wringing. Most likely I would have just passed out and added to the confusion. When my babies were born I wanted to be absolutely knocked out. Wake me when it's over, was my theory.
Today everything is different. I started thinking about that while shopping around for the proper greeting stuff. I took the little ceramic bassinet combination flower holder and music box, from the drawer where it's been for 22 years, and took it down to Ben Franklin's. Patsy Coates helped me pick out some darling little pink carnations and some crawling ivy and then she just fixed up the best little arrangement. The crib was a gift when our grandson was born. Now his daughter could have it.
We trotted that down to the hospital, where Nina was only interested in taking a nap, so I went out to the nurses' station and asked if I could get in the nursery with Nicki, (that's what we'll call her) to take a couple of pictures. They said, "Sure" and unlocked the door so I could just shoot away. Got a picture of the baby, a nurse feeding the baby, the nurse who delivered the baby, and so on and on.
Next I went to HEB to get pink balloons filled with helium to tie on the mailbox. Then I went home and sat down with a cup of coffee to think about the day. There was indeed a lot to think about. I started with before I was born.
I was born in a small box house on a cotton farm in Hardeman County. My mother was a little old to have a baby in those days, my sisters were 15 and 13 and my brother was 10. We were all born at home with the help of a good country doctor who arrived just in the nick of time. Mother never bothered with bottles when it was feeding time, nor specially prepared foods when we started to take on solids. I grew up surviving all the usual childhood diseases...chicken pox...measles....mumps but healthy otherwise.
Twenty-three years later my son was born in a hospital, in a specialty unit. I could see him for just a few minutes each day. My husband could see him only through a glass window. My doctor kept me in the hospital for one week and in bed at home for another week. No small children were permitted near the baby and we could not ride in a car for at least six weeks.
Twenty-three years later my son's son is born in the Stephenville Hospital. Mother and son stay in the hospital several days. No one is allowed in the nursery without a gown and mask.
Twenty-three more years go by. Harris Methodist Hospital, where our daughter and her three daughters were born; where two grandsons, two granddaughters, two great-grandsons, and now one great-granddaughter were born, has changed and maybe for the better.
This time the room assigned to the expectant mother is the room where the birth takes place and where she stays until dismissal. A rocking chair is provided, a bed for the husband or otherwise interested person and provisions for the mother are all part of the decor.
In my day, men were not welcome in the delivery room. They stood out in the hall and paced the floor, remember? Today they help deliver the baby if they want to. In fact the entire family can be present and in our case a large part of the family was present to welcome a new life.
An angel came down from heaven today and we'll call her Nicki.