June is a special month
June holds a special place in my heart as one of my favorite months. It signifies the beginning of summer vacations and, more importantly, marks the anniversary of becoming a mother twenty-seven years ago.
On Saturday, June 1, 1996, I woke up with the knowledge that it would be a long day ahead of me. My high school friends had organized a baby shower and cookout in the park. I dragged myself out of bed, brewed a fresh pot of coffee and prepared a big breakfast with Rodger, who is now my ex-husband. After breakfast, I followed my usual routine of cleaning and doing laundry. The baby room was all set, eagerly awaiting the arrival of our little one in two weeks. Rodger and I were filled with excitement and nervousness, given that we had experienced the loss of our first child. We prayed fervently that everything would go smoothly this time around.
Before preparing lunch that afternoon, I decided to take a quick nap. As I drifted into a peaceful slumber, sudden sharp pains jolted me awake. They persisted, and I realized they were contractions. The contractions were remarkably intense. Rodger and I waited for about half an hour before deciding it was time to head to the hospital. Considering we lived 40 minutes away from the nearest hospital, we thought it was best to err on the side of caution. However, as we embarked on our journey, the contractions seemed to ease up both in frequency and intensity. I hesitated to rush in a maddash to the hospital, after hearing numerous stories about false alarms. So, we decided to make a pit stop at McDonald’s, where Rodger satisfied his hunger with a twocheeseburger value meal. Since the newspaper office where I worked was close to the hospital, I suggested we wait there to see if the contractions were to start again. They did, and they were intense as ever.
Within minutes, we reached the hospital. Soon I found myself in a hospital room, hooked up to monitors by a nurse. Dr. Larry Stutts, my attending physician, had been notified and arrived promptly. Given that he had already delivered 20-30 babies in May, I’m sure he would have appreciated a night off. Dr. Stutts, approached my bedside and informed me of a small complication, and recommended a emergency Csection. He was very calm when explaining this to me, so I didn’t feel worried and consented to his suggestion. He swiftly left the room, and then I was moved on the gurney to a different operating room. Before I knew it, my little girl was born, weighing six pounds and five ounces. She was an absolute beauty. We had already decided upon the perfect name – Emily Estelle.
It was only after Emily’s arrival that my family had shared with me how Dr. Stutts ran frantically down the hallway after exiting my room. Dr. Stutts later explained to me that he had opted for a C-section because he sensed that Emily was in distress and that her umbilical cord had been wrapped around her neck. I am eternally grateful to him for making that call in such a dire time. As parents, even after divorcing, Rodger and I have cared and nurtured our child since the day she was born. We have celebrated countless birthdays, watched her grow into a stunning young woman, and we hold onto the hope that she will continue to excel in her own remarkable journey of life and perhaps start a family of her own. But today, we celebrate her birthday, rejoicing in the wonderfully independent woman she has become.