My First Birthing Experience

Thoughts of my mother became less painful as I began to focus on preparing for the upcoming birth of my first baby which was now only two months away. Except for frequent bouts with my skin allergy, all had gone well. My thoughts often drifted to wondering whether we would have a girl or a boy (no ultra sounds back then) and what he/she would look like. I imagined this dark-haired, (lots of it) brown-eyed, olive skin baby...like his/her father. As a little girl I had fantasized about marrying an Indian, a real Indian that wore a loin cloth and lived in a tepee. I have no idea where that fantasy came from. But it had been somewhat fulfilled when I married my part Indian, Jim. (Jim's grandmother was Indian) So maybe this vision I had about what my baby should look like was part of the fantasy I had as a child.

I hadn't been too excited by my prenatal care by random military doctors and nurses, (whoever happened to be on duty the day of my appointments), and I had no idea who would be on call when I went into labor. But their services were free. I don't feel that I had been very well prepared for a first-time birth. I really didn't know what to expect. I was a week overdue when I started having what I thought were regular contractions. So I headed off to the ugly, barrack-like hospital on base. Instead of telling me that these contractions were not the "real thing" and sending me home, they just kept me there. It was two days before I started in labor for real. No one had taught me how to minimize the pain and stress by relaxing and breathing techniques, so I was fighting every single contraction. (Maybe those techniques were not even around those days. Who knows?) I think this contributed to twenty-four hours of labor. By the time my baby was born, I was totally "out of it" because of all the drugs I had been given. This was not a great experience.

When my beautiful eight pound, three ounce, twenty-two inch long baby girl was placed in my arms, the bad experience of giving birth was all forgotten. However, when I looked at this blond-haired (what little she had), blue-eyed, white-skinned (not even pink) baby I wondered if somehow babies had been switched in the nursery. This couldn't be my baby. She didn't look anything like what I had pictured in my mind. But then I remembered that there were only two babies in the nursery, so it would have been pretty hard to mix them up. And besides, I had already fallen in love with that beautiful baby in my arms, blond hair and all.

My hospital stay was three days long as was standard in 1955. The worst part of that stay was the meals. No, it wasn't because of lousy food. It was where we had to eat them...in the mess hall with young servicemen. Here we were, in our hospital gowns, carrying our donut pillows given to us to make sitting a little more comfortable because of stitches, walking into a room full of staring, snickering single males. It was embarrassing...no, humiliating. I was so glad when I could take my baby and go home, swearing never to have another baby in a military hospital even if it was free.

We named our little girl Bessie Jean...Bessie after my mother and Jean after the sister-in-law who sacrificed so much to raise Jim in his teen-age years. We knew she would probably hate the old fashioned name, Bessie, or that she may some day be mocked by her peers because the name "Bessie" was often given to cows. So from the very beginning we called her Jeanie. I felt sad that Mother would never know her namesake, at least not in this life. But as I gave it more thought, I felt very strongly that Mom knew Jeanie better than me and I smiled at the thought that maybe she even picked her out to be sent to us because she was such a special spirit. It wouldn't surprise me if Jim's mom was right there, too, using whatever influence she may have had to pick the best. I have since felt that same way about all of the children that have come to us because they all have been so special...and still are. We have been blessed!

So now it was home to face life as a new mother without the help and advice of my experienced mother. Thank heaven for a wonder grandmother who picked up the reins and was there for me whenever I needed a mom.