Interlude

my birth day..

62 years ago today my beautiful, brave mom gave birth to me in Rochford, England, in a small village an hour outside of London.

My birth story is much like the BBC show “Call the Midwife.”

It was Wednesday evening, November 30th, when my mom felt a deep pain in her abdomen. At first she thought it was indigestion from eating dinner with friends, but then they kept coming every 30 minutes. My dad went nextdoor to the "Gibson’s” and asked to use their phone to call the midwife. Nurse Pelikan (you heard that correctly) would arrive on her bicycle, as my mom’s pain had subsided, examine her and leave saying she wouldn’t come back until they were 20 minutes apart. By the evening of December 1st, the pains were unbearable and my dad went back to the Gibson’s and called the midwife again.

Nurse Pelikan agreed that I was definitely on the way, stripped the bed, laid all the necessary items out, making the bedroom as sterile as possible and gave my dad huge pans to keep filling with boiling water. She then laid near my mom all night, with my dad out on the sofa worrying, hearing nothing. By the early morning of December 2nd my mom was in agony and needed to push. She had pushed so long that by 10 a.m. Nurse Pelikan ran to the Gibsons again, calling for the village doctor, saying my mom would not make it. Her heart was giving out. There was no time to get her to a hospital. Back then, in England, the health system wouldn’t let you give birth in a hospital if you had a bed at home as there were more patients than hospital beds. You were lucky to be able to book a bed in a hospital from the onset of a pregnancy.

By this time my dad was pacing outside the door, dragging on cigarettes, nervous, and the village doctor, who was assigned to my mom’s maternity care, was having a day off! Desperately, the midwife had to call another village to see if their doctor was available and he arrived by taxi.

Assessing the situation he announced that my exhausted and weak mom would have to deliver immediately with no anesthetic for the episiotomy, of which he did right away. Nurse Pelikan then delivered sleepy little me and apparently I was perfect :)

Dad still pacing.. the bedroom door swung open, <insert British-Cockney accent> “Congratulations Mr. Gunn, you have a healthy baby girl.. now go bury this in the garden.” She proceeded to hand him a bowl with the placenta inside and off he went, dutifully, to dig a hole and bury it in the garden.

I would spend my few short years in England loved by many relatives, enjoying the seaside and spending afternoons sitting on a little bench, up against our bungalow, waiting for the trains to run through our unfenced back garden. Out in the distance was the Matchbox toy car factory.

How blessed am I to be here today, and to have a birth story rich with gratitude for my life. Rich in love. I know the pain and worry of a near tragic birth myself and the heavy baring down to deliver a child in an emergency. To want children so badly like my mom did.

I am grateful to reach 62 today and be the same independent spirit that began in my mother’s womb. Thank you mom, and dad in heaven, for dreaming of me.

Thank you God for my life so far. It’s been good..