reset 06/23/99
I found myself in the foyer of Plano General Hospital. Rose's water broke in the wee hours of the morning, and we drove the short distance to the hospital after she convinced me to get out of bed. I did manage to get in a few more hours of sleep -- waiting for the contractions to get serious. After retiring from the baby business for 17 years, my wife wanted me to experience fatherhood. However, it was made perfectly clear that this was the end of the line. We knew that we were to have a girl. The amniocentesis told us that long ago. There were to be no surprises. I had no say-so whatsoever as to the baby's name. It was to be Courtney Rae Hazlett.
At 7 cm dilation, Rose requested drugs, and off we went to the normal delivery room. Just prior to giving up our pleasant apartment style birthing room, I made a final telephone call to our insurance carrier. You see, Rose wanted a tubal ligation. The insurance company, however, would apparently rather pay for baby after baby. I gave them one last chance to change their collective minds, but alas, all was in vain. As a man of few resources, I reluctantly informed Rose and the medical staff that we would settle for one medical procedure today. The doctor couldn't get to her tubes. It seems there was a baby in the way. So, we had a baby girl.
A couple of years later, the 94th General Hospital was called to active duty service. Someone named Saddom was causing a little trouble. Courtney was three years old--just out of diapers. I was relieved because Pampers and Huggies didn't make any larger sizes. Courtney was indeed a big baby. At the age of two weeks, Courtney was still under her birth weight, so the doctor told us we needed to supplement mother's milk with formula. By the age of three months, Courtney had ballooned and continued to be a little hefty for her age, despite the use of diluted formula from that point on. Anyway, we shipped Rose off to Germany for an undetermined time period. I was a single parent. We managed. We led highly structured lives.
I specifically recall the day we said goodbye. We drove Rose out to the reserve center. A large number of chartered buses were on hand. All reservists, now active duty personnel, were to be transported by bus from Dallas to San Antonio, where they'd catch a departing flight to Frankfort. The word was that Rose's unit would be filling in for regular active duty personnel in hospitals throughout Europe who were displaced into the Gulf region. We knew, however, that there were no guarantees. Casualties were expected -- lots of them. Word spread that 50,000 body bags had been shipped. A bloody war with poison gas and biological weapons in use was anticipated. One looming question remained. Did Saddom have access to a nuclear arsenal?
There we were, dropping Rose off at the reserve center. I remember being in a hurry. Rose gave Courtney and I a small kiss, turned with duffel bags across each shoulder, and walked off. We believe we caught a glimpse of her through a window as the buses pulled away, but it may have been wishful thinking. It wasn't the kind of goodbye I'd expected. It wasn't like the Hollywood movies where couples needed to be pried apart. There were no lingering kisses. Just like that, it was over. I didn't know if I'd ever see Rose again. I drove home with Courtney feeling quite empty.
Two months later, the war was over. When Rose was to arrive home, debriefing was to take place in San Antonio. I bought a video camera just to capture the reunion moment -- another disappointment. Courtney and I drove from Dallas to San Antonio for the big reunion. We arrived outside the compound where Rose had indicated she was staying. I cranked up the video camera to capture what surely was to be a dramatic moment. Courtney yelled at me all the way up the corridor to stop the video camera. When the two did greet one another, there was very little emotion. It was like Rose had just been away for a weekend, but I knew better.
We wanted to attend the decommissioning ceremony the next day. We checked into a motel for that night, since there were no vacancies at the military guest quarters. My parents were to drive down from Austin to attend as well. The next morning we arrived at the appointed time and place only to find out that the location had changed as well as the time. The ceremony was already over. So much for pomp and circumstance. Rose was disappointed to have missed the send off, but she was free to leave the base and her unit, so we headed for home.
After returning, Rose was technically still on the active duty roster for two additional weeks. At this time she began to inquire about receiving a tubal ligation while under free medical care benefits from the military. I can't recall what went wrong, but time ran out.
Meanwhile, we scheduled a trip to Hawaii for later that summer. It was to be sort of a family vacation to celebrate the homecoming. Time passed quickly, and we were in Honolulu before we knew it. We had a friend on Oahu who let us stay in his single bedroom condo for two weeks. Major Lawrence Chang was a wonderful friend. Rose was his nurse when he came into the base hospital in San Francisco for eye surgery. Mr. Chang was legally blind, diabetic, and handicapped -- so he told us. He was a Pearl Harbor survivor. Mr. Chang was a survivor. His wife had died a few years previous. He had no children. He had alienated the majority of his living relatives, but he had his friends. He kept a condo and a car available for any friend who wanted to come visit him in Hawaii. We took Major Chang up on his offer.
Oh, we also invited my step-daughter, Angie, to go with us. We had fun, but we had no privacy in our one bedroom guest quarters. As the time drew near for the vacation to end, Angie was suddenly stricken with fever blisters around her mouth. Her bouts with Herpes simplex B were usually brought on by stress and always required a good dose of antibiotics to clear up. Though it was getting late one evening, she insisted upon driving to the nearest medical clinic to see a doctor and get a prescription. That evening, after Courtney was asleep, was our one and only romantic encounter in Hawaii. Only God knows what stressful event brought on Angie's illness while on a relaxing tropical escape.
The following month, Rose insisted on having the tubal ligation -- insurance or no insurance. I had dropped Rose off in the morning at the hospital for her outpatient surgery. She had gone by the day before for her pre-op laboratory tests. There was nothing I could do, so I went on to work. I was depressed. That was truly the end of the line. Short of adoption, there would be no more babies. About two hours later, I received a phone call at work. It was Rose. She said that the surgery had been canceled due to something which showed up on one of her lab tests. Rose told me she was pregnant. I was filled with joy but scared, knowing how much Rose never wanted to go through childbearing again. Rose had a tough time carrying Courtney. She had developed Carpal Tunnel Syndrome in her wrists during the final couple of months and experienced a great deal of pain. Of course, maternal age was always a risk factor.
At that point, I prayed that the baby would be another girl. Rose went on record that she wanted no boys. We lucked out with Courtney. Knowing that we would find out the baby's sex long before delivery, I feared for Rose's emotional well-being should she be forced to carry a boy for several months following the genetics screening.
Rose began to get very large. About four months into the pregnancy, Rose was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Several weeks of attempted dietary control were in vain. Rose graduated to insulin injections. She even had me giving her shots -- something I never thought I would or could do. We went through the battery of tests given to older mothers. Everything checked out okay, but we were going to have a son. Rose was enormous, and we were told just the week before her due date that the baby would be over nine pounds as a result of the unchecked diabetes.
Finally, the day came. Just as with Courtney, it all began with Rose's water breaking. Labor contractions were small, slow, and irregular. The doctor initiated pitocin to speed things up a bit. The doctor watched the fetal monitor intently. The baby's heartbeat indicated stress, and the decision was made to take the baby by C-section. I wasn't sure that I could handle observing the procedure at my wife's side, but I summoned what courage I could.
When Creighton was delivered, his umbilical chord was found to be wrapped around his neck twice. But Creighton made it. He beat the odds. God strung together an unbelievable series of events to produce a new life -- poor insurance, a modern-age war, a scheduling problem, a Hawaiian vacation, a bout of fever blisters, a canceled tubal ligation, a struggle against diabetes, a stress test, a C-section, an umbilical noose. I know that God has a special plan for Creighton because Creighton is my miracle baby.
Psalm 127:3
Sons are a heritage from the Lord, children a reward from him.
Life is fragile. New life is a miracle. The fact that it happens so frequently has reduced the miraculous to the ordinary, the common. Genesis tells us we are fashioned in God's image. Exactly what that means has been a subject of debate by theologians for centuries, but it does elevate mankind over the rest of creation. I'm sure God agonizes over one abortion more than the plight of all the whales and baby seals. Which cause is more apt to stir your emotions?
Do you know the circumstances of your own miraculous entry into this world? I encourage you to find out in as much detail as possible. In the same vein, parents, tell your children how precious and special they are. By relating the details leading up to their entry into this world, you will be setting the stage for their own sense of purpose and self-worth.
Many churches today have baby dedication ceremonies. These are more for the parents than the kids, as parents are challenged to make a commitment to their child. If you are a parent, what commitments have you made to your children? A generation is emerging with little or no commitment between parent and child. Make sure you are an exception. When he/she is old enough, make them aware of your covenant. Your child will have a head start on all his/her peers which will pave the way to success.
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reset 06/23/99