A VERY DARK TIME

The day we took our baby home was bitterly cold for Florida.  We bundled Jeanne in tiny sweaters, booties, a hat and many receiving blankets to shield her from the icy wind.  In her short life Jeanne had only experienced warmth.  When the cold hit her little face, her eyes widened and she looked at me very intently in disbelief.  What in the world was this?  I held her close to me to protect her not only from the freezing cold but from everything else in the world that could possibly hurt her.

The euphoria I felt in the hospital was gone.  I felt anxious and inadequate.  How could I possibly care for this helpless infant?  I was frightened and tearful.  I experienced a feeling I had never felt before--despair.  But I said nothing to Paul.  I fed my baby; I changed her; I sang little songs to her; I washed her tiny clothes.  I held her in my arms, but inside I felt nothing but panic and despair.  What was wrong with me?  I couldn't sleep at night so I got up for all Jeanne's feedings.  We sat on the couch as she drank from her bottle and I cried silently.

The days dragged by and I was no better.  I asked Paul to call the doctor as something was very wrong.  I heard him talking to Dr. Scott in a low voice and I tried not to scream.

"The doctor thinks you have  post-partum depression.  He wants me to take you to the hospital right away."  How could I go to the hospital and leave my baby?  Paul's mother came over looking terrified and took Jeanne from my arms as I cried.

Dr. Scott met us at the hospital and conferred briefly with Paul and a psychiatrist.  I had shut down completely and just stood there like a sleepwalker.  This was fifty years ago and there were very few antidepressants available, so I was given a anti-
psychotic and slept thirteen hours.  Even now, so many years later, I can still recall the unrelenting terror of that time.

                                     TO BE CONTINUED

WE SEE OUR BABY AT LAST!

Jeanne was brought to us (finally) bathed and dressed and hungry.  Paul and I were ecstatic as I fed her the tiny bottle of formula and looked into her huge aquamarine eyes.  I had never seen eyes that startling color before and I prayed they would stay that intense blue-green, but they did not.  Within a few weeks Jeanne had brown eyes like me, but she was a gorgeous baby girl with perfect skin, dimpled hands, downy brown hair and a lovely smile.  Naturally, none of the three other babies in the room could compare to our baby who we knew was extraordinary.

Grandparents arrived who were as smitten as we were and pronounced Jeanne perfect.  Many, many flowers were delivered from our relatives and friends until I felt I lived in a fragrant garden.  I missed my baby when she was taken back to the nursery and eagerly waited until the next feeding.

Only one thing marred the perfection of these few days.  It was a cold, cold February and late at night the temperature in the room dropped.  We new mothers were told that each and every time we used the bathroom, we had to take the pitcher of  icy green liquid antibiotic and hurl it onto our most private parts.  Each time I would delay as long as possible before dousing myself with the near freezing liquid.  What fresh hell was this?  Who had devised this fiendish plan?  If I didn't do it, would they KNOW?  There were probably hidden cameras!  So I would hold my breath and pour it on with my right hand, try to muffle my screams with my left hand and then hobble back to bed, my thin ugly hospital gown offering no protection from the icy cold whatsoever.  Once back under the covers, I thanked God for creating warmth, surely his most wondrous invention, except for babies of course.

To be concluded

A NEW BEGINNING - Part 2

The next half hour went by very fast.  I was rushed to the delivery room and given something to wear on my wrist.  If the pain got bad, I was to breathe in some gas. Unfortunately, as soon as I went out my arm would drop and the pain was still there!  Dr. Scott came rushing in still wearing his golf clothes beneath his gown and got to work.  I was asked if I wanted a mirror placed in front of the birth canal.  Being squeamish I really didn't want to know just what was happening, so I declined while screaming.  A few minutes passed during which I was not brave.....and then Jeanne Kathryn Bressoud arrived.  I was overjoyed.  I was allowed to see her for about a nanosecond before she was whisked away (things were very different then). At some point I was given something to stop my milk from coming in and I don't recall giving my permission.  It was just assumed new mothers would NOT nurse and we were given lots of formula upon leaving the hospital.  Mother/baby bonding apparently had no importance in those days as I did not see Jeanne for hours.  I was whisked out of the delivery room and left in the hall as it had all happened so fast there was no room ready.

I saw Paul coming down the hall looking cheerful.  He began telling me a funny story about something that happened at dinner. Finally, I interrupted with "Are you excited?"  He looked confused.  "About the baby being a girl?" "What?" I began to wonder about his mental health and then I realized that he didn't know.

"Jeanne has been born, Paul, while you were gone!  Didn't anyone call you?"

A huge grin lit up his face.  "The baby is a girl?  She's here?"

"Yes, she's here.  It happened very fast. They don't even have a room ready for me. I'm so happy! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes!!"  Paul actually jumped into the air.  I could not believe my eyes.  We both started laughing and acting like fools.

              TO BE CONTINUED

FEBRUARY 22, 1967--A NEW BEGINNING

On the morning of February 22, 1967, I was awakened by a slight, but significant pain.  I woke my husband, Paul, immediately.

"I have a pain!" I cried.  He looked bewildered and his blue eyes slowly closed.  "Wake up," I cried.  "Today is the day and I have a pain."  His blue eyes slowly opened.

"Have you taken some aspirin?" he said reasonably.  Was the man simple?

"Today is the 22nd and I have a pain.  It may be labor!"  He immediately snapped to attention and started running around the room, looking for God-knows-what.  Probably his clothes.  "Should I call Dr. Scott?"

"Yes, call Dr. Scott!" he said and lit a cigarette.  "I'll make coffee and you call Dr. Scott and ask him what to do."

"Do we have time for coffee?" I said. "What if the baby is coming now?"

Paul inhaled deeply and thought about this.  "I don't think it happens that fast."

"No, surely not," I said.  All I could think of was Prissy in Gone With The Wind screaming, "I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' babies!" (It was 1967.  We didn't know this was racist.)

Dr. Scott was quite calm and said we could meander down to the hospital any time now.  It would be a while before the baby came.

Seven or eight hours later I had still not had a serious pain and was laughing and joking with the Candystripers.  Paul had hoped for a little action by now and he was becoming increasingly anxious.

"Paul, go on over to your parents' house and have some dinner.  I think it's going to be a while yet."  Gratefully, Paul sped away to the safety of his mother's dinner table.  Since there was absolutely no drama, the pretty little Candystripers lost interest and wandered away.  I was quite cheerful.  What was all the fuss about childbirth for heaven's sakes?  I burrowed under the covers with Cosmopolitan and Helen Gurley Brown, hoping to find an article about sex.  I soon found one entitled 27 Positions for Blissful Sex and I settled down for a good read when....

            Oh, my God! I yelped.

Was this was they were talking about?  Suddenly, I wanted to put a knife under the bed to cut the pain in two.  Good Grief!!  This was terrible!  After two more earth-shattering pains I called the nurse.

"And how are we doing, Miss Linda?  Coming along are we?" she said, smiling broadly.  How dare she smile?  Suddenly, I disliked her intensely.  I was suffering and she was all sweetness and light.

"I think my baby is coming!" I loudly announced.  "In fact, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, let's not jump the gun, Sweetheart. This is your first and I don't think--"

"Would you check," I said through gritted teeth.  "I can feel it coming."

Nurse Ratched laughed merrily as she pulled aside the covers.  "We'll just take a little looksee and you can calm down oh my God it IS coming and Dr. Scott is at the golf course it's Wednesday."  Nurse looked stricken.  "I'll just go and call him," she said and departed with all possible speed.

I was alone with my baby ready to pop out into the world at any moment.  I crossed my legs and prayed. Out loud.  

              TO BE CONTINUED
                  



"

GOING HOME

 Paul and I were driving down the highway in Ohio after a wonderful visit with his brother, George, his sister-in-law, Leigh, and their beautiful children.  Leigh was pregnant again.  We had a fine time and hated to leave except that we were going home at last to start our new life together. Chatting and laughing, we sped down the highway toward Florida when suddenly everything changed. We heard a terrifying noise as another car crashed into ours and we turned over and over and over until at last we came to a stop in a ditch with the roof of our car on the ground and broken glass everywhere.  I was in shock and could not understand what had happened.*

                                           

     Paul was unhurt and climbed out the window.  I could hear Paul talking to me, but I couldn't understand what he was saying.  I heard sirens approaching. Someone was lifting me very gently and placing me on a stretcher. I was dimly aware that I was in pain and covered with broken glass. Blood was everywhere.  Paul was talking to me, telling     me not to worry; I would be all right.  

                                 

I remember nothing of the ambulance ride to the hospital; I barely recall the hospital. There was pain and blood and X rays. I kept saying my neck hurt. And my back.  I was given a pain shot followed by euphoria.  I smiled at Paul who looked stricken. I saw that he was talking to a doctor but I drifted off.

            

We went back to George and Leigh who graciously took us in.  Paul bought a new car and we drove to Sarasota.  My neck still hurt.  A couple of weeks later we received pictures taken by the ambulance people of the wrecked car, me being lifted out of it; Paul standing by looking anxious and a man in a suit who looked.....guilty.  Later we learned that it was he who crashed his brand new car into ours.  He wanted to see how fast it would go.  Apparently, pretty fast.

*These are not the real pictures of our crash.  Ours were much more frightening, but they have disappeared in the mists of time.  And my neck still hurts.             

LEAVING LOUISIANA

Paul's sparkling production of The King and I was coming to a close.  He had little to do now except give notes every night to the cast.  So we enjoyed ourselves and relaxed.  After the curtain had fallen for the last time the entire cast and crew were invited aboard a lovely houseboat and we cruised slowly down the river.  Lavish food and drinks were offered and the summer night was perfect.

Although that lovely night was over fifty years ago, it remains with me still in all its grace and beauty.  It was as if we were separated from the world; noise and clamor could not touch us here.  I wanted to float down that peaceful river forever, breathing in the sweet night air.  I smiled at Paul.

We left Monroe the next day and most of my memories of that time have faded.  But the romance of drifting slowly through the water under the stars is still fresh.

WHAT IS THAT AWFUL SMELL?

Good grief!  What is that rotten smell?  I stepped from the third plane of my trip from Gainesville into Monroe, Louisiana, home of many paper mills.  Many, many paper mills, all of which smelled revolting.  I was tired, hungry, dirty and my incision was leaking badly.  None of the ordered wheelchairs had been there and I hobbled from one concourse to another, leaking copious amounts of .....yucky stuff.

Monroe, Louisiana

At last I glimpsed Paul who seemed glad to see me in spite of my ghastly appearance.

"Don't hug me; I really need to change my bandage and I haven't been able to and it's ... leaking."

Paul blanched at this news in spite of having been a medic in the Navy.  We drove to the hotel as I regaled Paul with tales of my lengthy hospital stay.  My father had visited me right after my first surgery and thought I had been decapitated.  (I have the scar to this day.)  Paul told me about the youngest kids playing the King of Siam's many children.  One was three and one was four and they had been cast because they were adorable.  But when they got bored, the little girl did somersaults and the small boy picked his nose.  The resounding laughter these behaviors received from the cast and crew did nothing to discourage our young Thespians.  And yes, the dancer playing Eliza did have huge breasts which did as they pleased.  Paul did not seem unduly concerned by this fascinating display.

Anna and the King

What did concern him was that the custom in Monroe was apparently to hire a professional director with a great deal of experience and then allow anyone in the theatre to give amateur notes to the professional.  Board members, prop people, the costume lady, parents of cast members, the janitor--all were encouraged to give Paul nightly notes based on their complete lack of theatrical knowledge.  Paul was dumbfounded by this custom.

"Why did they hire me if the prop manager knows more than I do?  What about the big-breasted dancer?  Maybe she has some line readings she'd like to suggest.  The actors playing Anna and the King actually have a great deal of experience.  They know what they're doing.  But you don't see them giving me notes every night."

I had grown up in community theatre; I knew that Ego reigned supreme.  The less a person knew about acting and production, the more they felt qualified to give advice.  Mostly dumb advice.  Paul was having a hard time, but I was enjoying myself.  I slept late; I didn't have to work and every night I went to rehearsals and socialized with everyone.  It was exactly what I needed after My Kidney Stone Honeymoon.  And eventually Opening Night came as it always does.  The King and I was a huge success and everyone who had ever given Paul notes took sole credit for its shining glory.

                                                               To Be Continued