An Extraordinary Turn of Events

What a morning. What an incredibly frustrating morning. We started out fairly early today. Maybe that was our mistake. Rather than missing the morning rush-hour traffic, we’ve been slogging along right in the middle of it. Not a well-thought-out plan. To make matters worse, the weather is atrocious. The snow started falling around 4 a.m. and has only intensified for hours now. The road crews can’t keep up. We’ve seen five or six cars on the side of the road or in the medians, and have even driven, or should I say crawled, past a couple of accidents. Welcome to Chicago.

But we have no choice. We have to make this trip today. We’re on our way downtown for an appointment with our priest. Today is the day we are presenting our baby to the Lord. It has to happen today. So here we are, Seth and I and our new baby, inching along in parking-lot traffic, in the middle of a snow storm. The frustration is all over Seth’s face. He can barely see out of the windshield. The defrost fan in our old Escort is barely blowing and just can’t keep up. In fact, the heater isn’t keeping the pace either. Thankfully, our precious child is sleeping peacefully in the car seat. He’s oblivious to all of this. In fact, I really needed to make a video journal of these recent days. But until we can afford a camera, I’ll just have to make due with my written notes and vivid memory. Should I miss any detail, I’m sure that Seth will fill in the blanks.

 

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What an uncanny week this has been. When we left the apartment eight days ago, I simply could never have predicted this series of events. There is no way that any number of childbirth classes, birthing-room tours or obstetrician consultations could have prepared us for the birth of this baby.

 

We shouldn’t have been traveling this late in Arie’s pregnancy, but there was no way around it. Due to some new Illinois law, we both had to present certified copies of our birth certificates to the social services department in order to obtain assistance for the baby. And we really needed that help, as my fledgling woodworking business isn’t making much money and we certainly can’t afford health insurance. So, after searching for my certificate in every likely, and unlikely, place in our apartment, we started the drive from Ottawa to my home neighborhood on the South Side of the city.

 

The little courthouse in the middle of town was the only place I could get a certified birth certificate. I had to apply in person. But we didn’t make it to the courthouse that day.

About midway along in our trip, Arie started to have contractions. She’d been having them off and on for some days now. However, it wasn’t long before she noticed that these seemed different. Naturally, she started timing them, and I started sweating. Sure enough, they were getting more frequent. And by the way she was squeezing my arm and punching the car door, I could tell that they were also getting more intense. Now what?

 

She had to stop. Now. But where? How could I find a hospital? We sure didn’t have a GPS navigation system in our ’89 Escort! Did we even have time for that? And then I noticed a Motel 6 sign. I sped to the motel and ran to the front desk to ask about a nearby hospital. As I was getting directions, Arie burst into the lobby, crying out in pain. We weren’t going to a hospital. The counter person called 911. At this point, the motel manager rushed from a nearby office. Quickly assessing the situation, she bemoaned the fact that their motel was entirely full. And the lobby was certainly no place to bring a baby into the world. All she could offer was the laundry room. We could get as comfortable as possible in there while we waited on the EMT’s. At least there would be plenty of linens if the EMT’s didn’t make it on time. They didn’t.

 

Arie’s labor was unusually brief for a first pregnancy. By the time the ambulance arrived we were already the proud parents of a wonderful baby boy. When the EMT’s came into the laundry, their faces couldn’t hide their surprise. Arie was resting quietly, propped against a wall, snuggled into some motel blankets. I was standing beside a laundry cart, its top covered with six or eight Motel 6 towels. In the center of this makeshift bassinette was our promised child, wrapped in common white bed sheets. He immediately drew the EMT’s attention. I’m sure I smiled broadly as they laid eyes on the center of our universe.

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