Nineteen years ago today I took my wife Kathy to a check-up at Prentice Women's Hospital in downtown Chicago.
She was overdue with our first child, John.
Her doctor came out to speak to us after examining Kathy and said: "This is what we are going to do. You are going to walk out to Michigan Avenue and have the best dinner you can find. Then you are going to return to the hospital, and we will check Kathy in to the hospital and induce pregnancy. By the morning, your child should be born."
I love to eat good food. So I liked this idea a lot.
It was about 4 pm in the afternoon. I immediately started fantasizing as we waited about what I was going to eat and drink at this last dinner together as a couple alone.
As I got lost in thought about juicy thick steaks and all, the doctor excused herself from the check up room. And Kathy and I started talking about where we would have dinner.
Three minutes later, the doctor returned and said "forget that idea. We are checking you in now and will start inducing pregnancy immediately."
I've never understood exactly why the change of heart. It still took all night for John to be born. The doctor got to go home, get a good meal, and a good nights sleep before John entered our world as the sun rose. He will turn nineteen tomorrow on January 16th.
I am sometimes told that this story reflects some selfishness on my part. After all, I gained a child, became a father, created a home, and I like to tell a story about how I lost out on a good meal the day before John was born.
I was born in Washington DC in May of 1962. The day my mother went into labor, my Dad got her in the car and started driving her to Georgetown University Hospital. There was one problem. He was supposed to go to George Washington University Hospital. My mom got him turned around and luckily directed him to the correct hospital in the nick of time. I apparently did not linger in the womb.
John did linger, though, and I still think -- with a wink -- we could've fit that meal in.
Tonight will be the first time in 19 years, Kathy and I will not have a child at home on this evening. (Tommy, our other son, is off with the University of Michigan Model UN group). I am going to suggest we go out for dinner. Knowing Kathy as I do, I expect, if I get her to agree, it will be a short dinner. There will be papers to grade, emails to answer, and Friday to prepare for.
Early in my years as a parent, my mother told me that our years with kids at home will go by quickly. And now as my Dad tells the story of going to the wrong hospital when I was born, I am left with the story of the great meal that I lost out on the day before John was born.
Of course I don't care that I missed out on the meal. To me it's just a funny story about an important day in my life. But maybe there is more to it. Maybe the repetitive telling of these stories is our way of lingering over an important moment again and again and again.
Life moves on. It all happened a bit too quickly.
Here's a song I like that you ought to know if you don't already. It's about the cycle of life we are all part of.
I love to celebrate and I will celebrate tomorrow Johns' 19th birthday. But I might be a little sad it happened so fast today. Thanks for listening to my story of that day and allowing me to linger a bit longer.
As I got lost in thought about juicy thick steaks and all, the doctor excused herself from the check up room. And Kathy and I started talking about where we would have dinner.
Three minutes later, the doctor returned and said "forget that idea. We are checking you in now and will start inducing pregnancy immediately."
I've never understood exactly why the change of heart. It still took all night for John to be born. The doctor got to go home, get a good meal, and a good nights sleep before John entered our world as the sun rose. He will turn nineteen tomorrow on January 16th.
I am sometimes told that this story reflects some selfishness on my part. After all, I gained a child, became a father, created a home, and I like to tell a story about how I lost out on a good meal the day before John was born.
I was born in Washington DC in May of 1962. The day my mother went into labor, my Dad got her in the car and started driving her to Georgetown University Hospital. There was one problem. He was supposed to go to George Washington University Hospital. My mom got him turned around and luckily directed him to the correct hospital in the nick of time. I apparently did not linger in the womb.
John did linger, though, and I still think -- with a wink -- we could've fit that meal in.
Tonight will be the first time in 19 years, Kathy and I will not have a child at home on this evening. (Tommy, our other son, is off with the University of Michigan Model UN group). I am going to suggest we go out for dinner. Knowing Kathy as I do, I expect, if I get her to agree, it will be a short dinner. There will be papers to grade, emails to answer, and Friday to prepare for.
Early in my years as a parent, my mother told me that our years with kids at home will go by quickly. And now as my Dad tells the story of going to the wrong hospital when I was born, I am left with the story of the great meal that I lost out on the day before John was born.
Of course I don't care that I missed out on the meal. To me it's just a funny story about an important day in my life. But maybe there is more to it. Maybe the repetitive telling of these stories is our way of lingering over an important moment again and again and again.
Life moves on. It all happened a bit too quickly.
Here's a song I like that you ought to know if you don't already. It's about the cycle of life we are all part of.
I love to celebrate and I will celebrate tomorrow Johns' 19th birthday. But I might be a little sad it happened so fast today. Thanks for listening to my story of that day and allowing me to linger a bit longer.
No comments:
Post a Comment