The Prince
Parrish, Maxfield
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Every time May 22nd comes around I vividly remember that day back in 1965. It was the day my son, Gerry, was born. It was a beautiful spring Saturday. Vicki's labor pains started gradually early in the day. We packed casually, drove leisurely to the Washington Hospital Center and, after being checked in, moved into the maternity waiting room. Vicki's labor pains started to come closer and closer. We both knew what to expect having attended pre-natal classes at this very same hospital.
This pregnancy had been planned. Fourteen months before, in the middle of a fierce Washington, D.C. snowstorm, our daughter, Lisa, was born. Same route, same hospital, same doctor but back then, they had to summon me from the "Stork Room" to come please move my car from in front of the Emergency room entrance. It was blocking traffic, motor running, lights on, doors open . . . next thing I knew I was a father!
Back to Gerry. We all moved into the delivery room. Me, the doctor, the nurses, all decked out in our gowns, masks and ready to do business. As the nurses prepared Vicki, Dr Cook soothed her as the contractions speeded up.
Suddenly Dr. Cook said, "OK. We're ready." And sure enough, being so close to the action, I could see the small opening becoming larger and larger. And there! I could see some hair and the top of a little head. And I heard Dr. Cook saying, "That's a girl. That's a girl." I thought, "How the heck does he know it's a girl? All that is showing at that point is a head. How does he know that?"
Pretty soon a tiny body started to appear and all the time Dr. Cook kept saying, "That's a girl. That's girl. Keep pushing, keep pushing." And, of course, Dr. Cook was telling Vicki to keep pushing hard -- so Gerry would be born!
So, yes the trauma of having Lisa born during a snowstorm is quite a lasting memory, but having Dr.Cook mixing genders almost confused a perfect spring day for me.
Bill Blackwell
March, 20004