RIVER MUSE

The prediction

BY CASS COLLINS
Posted 1/4/23

She was due on December 2, but family history suggested she might be late. I was late by more than a month (probably a miscalculation) and both my children were 10 days late. So we waited, through balmy early December, past the full moon, past her paternal grandfather’s untimely death (Oh, he wanted to hold her!) until the first big snowstorm of the season brought on contractions that could not be dismissed as false labor, even by a haughty male obstetrician.

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RIVER MUSE

The prediction

Posted

She was due on December 2, but family history suggested she might be late. I was late by more than a month (probably a miscalculation) and both my children were 10 days late. So we waited, through balmy early December, past the full moon, past her paternal grandfather’s untimely death (Oh, he wanted to hold her!) until the first big snowstorm of the season brought on contractions that could not be dismissed as false labor, even by a haughty male obstetrician. 

The pregnancy was relatively easy. My daughter has known pain in her life. Back surgery in 2016 left a long abdominal scar that I worried would make for complications. It didn’t. She breezed through summer and never even experienced morning sickness. Often other people didn’t realize she was pregnant until she stood up, her nearly six-foot frame obscuring her protruding belly. 

Early on, she consulted the midwifery practice in Honesdale, PA. They are connected to Wayne Memorial Hospital, which has an excellent labor and delivery component called New Beginnings. She was able to reserve the water birthing room, which has a deep heated tub for delivery. The midwives are trained in water births. It’s a far cry from a New York City delivery, where I labored with her in a section of hallway, divided from public view by a simple screen.

The birth plan included laboring at home as long as possible, with no interventions like inducement or pain medications. She was allowed to have two support people with her in labor and I was thrilled to be one of them. Her husband was the other.

On Sunday morning, December 11, the snowstorm was in its infancy but predicted to grow, as infants do. I received a text message saying her contractions were increasing in frequency and could I come over? As I crossed the Cochecton bridge and approached their house, another text said, “We’re going to the hospital now.” I followed close behind, admiring the various National Park stickers on the bumper of their car. 

My daughter and her husband met almost 12 years ago at Yosemite National Park. It was a rom-com-worthy meeting, as she and I chatted with his father on a glacial overlook. His father said “You should meet my son. He’s a redhead like you,” as he turned to introduce them. Later that night, as we watched my daughter sing at the nightly jam, he whispered, “We’re going to have ginger grandchildren.” I thought of his prediction as we made our way through the snowy roads with my pregnant daughter. He died knowing we would, but tragically too soon to experience the joy of this grandchild.

When we arrived at the hospital, none of the midwives were present. The storm prevented them from traveling. Only a male obstetrician was on duty. As my daughter labored through a contraction, he said “That doesn’t sound like real labor to me.” He was apparently used to the screams we heard coming from the next room from a woman who had not had the guidance of midwives about breath control during labor. Both my daughter and her husband were actively using the techniques recommended by natural childbirth practitioners. Her sounds were more guttural but no less real.

Fortunately, our great labor nurse, Calina, acted as a substitute midwife, providing props for laboring and support throughout the day. The labor that had started on Thursday night came to fruition on Sunday afternoon as snowfall gathered outside. The doctor came in a few minutes before the last push, laying his sterilized instruments down and presenting himself on a stool to catch the emerging life. I watched as an unrecognizable ball of flesh turned into a head and shoulders and body in one fell swoop. It was Rosie, she was here, and she was a ginger, just as her grandfather predicted.

pregnancy, family history, prediction

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